


Way Down We Go

by InsaneWeasel



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite RPF
Genre: Anti-Hero, Dystopian, Ethical Dilemmas, Gen, Super Villain!Tom, TW: Bad Science, TW: Human Experimentation, TW: amputation, Weasel Criticizes Governments, Whump, bad government, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneWeasel/pseuds/InsaneWeasel
Summary: Super-Hero AUJordan always had marginally insignificant powers, but after an invitation to a party by his shady roommate, James, and a kiss with the apocalypse's most famed super-villain, Syndicate, things go to shit. Soon Jordan's wrapped up in government conspiracies and the ethics of the villains versus the heroes.
Relationships: Tom Cassell/Jordan Maron
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71





	1. Invitation to a Party

**Author's Note:**

> Have been working on this for 2 ish years. Weasel put too many political opinions in this. Please keep the comment section free of politics, though. Please.

“Good job, team. You did good out there today. Excellent job out there Lightning.”

The glowing superhero with static crackling around him grinned. Jordan watched his hair waving faintly, unable to ever stay flat with his constant electricity surrounding him. Or at least he never let it fall in his superhero form. He wondered faintly if Lightning’s secret weakness was balloons.

“Awesome work, Mother Nature.”

The woman smiled, her blonde hair blowing softly as if there was a wind in the room. There was not. Her superhero outfit was skin-tight, yet somehow covered everything. It didn't leave much to the imagination. Not like it mattered. She was far too ugly on the inside. The woman was snobbish; you'd think 'nature' would be kind and gentle. So sue him, Jordan had accidentally stepped on her shoe once.

“Don't do so many fancy tricks next time, Fire Fox.”

The woman rolled her eyes, the ears on her costume twitching almost life like. Her orange jumpsuit with white accents mimicked the coloring of the fox. In the harsh lighting of the room it just made her look odd. Like a child trying to dress like their favorite super-hero at school. Maybe one day they'd find her a new material that was fire proof and stylish.

“And you, the best hero of the team,” the superior laid on thick, “nice firing Jericho.”

  
The western styled hero with, in Jordan's opinion, an almost comedic rendition of the “wild west” wore a cowhand hat and held guns that fired any type of weather from fire, ice, toxic water or lightning. The man, despite his laughable costume, grinned and nodded—thankfully oblivious to his mental judgment. The senior leader of the Heroes Commission glanced at Jordan, but he didn't say a word to him. His eyes moved on to survey the whole team and crinkled with a smile.

“Excellent, you're dismissed.”

Lightning and Mother Nature headed for the cafeteria, swiping their Level 1 clearance cards on the scanner in front of the private cafeteria full of gourmet food before disappearing inside. Fire Fox looked to be considering it, but she still had a Level 2 card, unlike her boyfriend Jericho. He almost thought no one was going to acknowledge him today, but Jericho, who had looked up from his com-link after holstering his guns gave Jordan an absent pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the lift, Sparklez,” he said before swiping his Level 1 card so that he and his girlfriend could get lunch. 

What was he, garbage? Jordan sighed and let his wings made of individual bronze feathers fade back into light. He didn't even have a Level 5 card, which ranked somewhere with Janitorial staff. He had a guest pass, despite the fact he had been doing this for a year and it hardly got him in anywhere. Instead, he was going home where he would fix a sandwich and go to his day job that sadly paid more than it did being what they called “help.” He slipped into the bathroom to pull off the bleak gray outfit they made “guests” wear that covered most of their face and body like just some morph suit with holes for the eyes and mouth and a mask to put over the eyes that had _some_ (read: none) night vision abilities according to HR. It wasn't like if anyone saw him it would matter. He wasn't a superhero in their definition and wasn't likely to be targeted. He would give anything to just wear shorts and a t-shirt on the job.

Jordan's powers were something that _could_ be grandeur. He could control the sun's light and form wings made of bronze feathers—but only when he was in the sunlight. Jordan imagined if they were use more useful he’d have a name like Icarus. They rarely worked in the moonlight, but if it was full moon he could get them partially formed. But despite being able to have what could be an awesome power, the sun's light never listened to him.

He could feel it churning beneath his hand, raw, tumultuous power whenever he called to it. Yet when he summoned it, just to cast more than a pinpoint of light, it ignored him.

They said it could be due to many things when he had gone to the Power Facility camps as a kid and teen where they honed, trained, and tested powers of superheroes. Biological. Neurological. Psychological. Environment. Or his favorite: “You're not mature enough to handle it.” Jordan had never been a trouble maker, never set foot outside the rules and been a bright student in what they called “Normal” school. As if being “normal” was a dreadful thing.

  
Any hope for his powers developing had been quashed. It was practically unheard of that anyone developed them further outside of puberty. Not _completely_ unheard of—a few notable Super Villains had late powers—in fact, all of those heard of with late powers went off the deep ending almost immediately.

The wings they said could be a fluke, because his powers never showed up on a scanner.

Yes, a fluke. He could sprout heavy wings made of bronze, nothing more than a fluke. Jordan sighed as he swiped his bus-card at the entrance and found an open bar to hold onto as the bus rose off the ground and started weaving among other air-traffic.

Whatever it was, it made life miserable. He wasn't a recognized superhero, he was constantly “on call” for real superheroes, flying them places and being ordered to stand back behind the police line until they needed him again. He hadn't event tried to get into a stable relationship since Junior Year…of high-school—he was a Senior in University now—and barely had six hours of sleep to work with a night.

His life was a disaster. If it wasn't for the fact his health insurance was paid for by the hero headquarters “their gift” for his “continued volunteer service” he would have left.

Jordan's apartment space was cramped and on the fringes of the city. There weren't any other superheroes around and small lowlife thugs always broke in if you didn't latch all three locks. You'd think with superheroes small crime would have gone down, but superheroes end up fighting super-villains and big-time thugs. It also ends up that most of the police force is constantly on crowd control and blocking off areas where fights go on. They’d hire more officers, but most of the money the city had was going towards infrastructure repairs.

His roommate was never home. He was always doing who knows what and Jordan was starting to think he sold drugs. The few boxes he brought home smelled weird and always had a powdery substance on the side, but since his roommate never took any of his illicit activities into their shared area (the living area and the kitchen), didn't invite trouble, paid his share of the rent and had successfully fixed their door locks so that no one tried to break in ever again (after one unfortunate event by some nut-job screaming about 'Waglington' whatever that was) Jordan had no intention of finding a new one.

Yet, as he entered the apartment today, closing the door behind him with a sigh, he was surprised to see James sprawled on the couch watching television. Jordan set his keys in the dish by the door and headed to kitchen. He didn't think James would pay him any mind—the man's mind was always elsewhere, whether by drugs or imagination—but today must have been his lucky day.

“Jordan, you're home!” James cheered, the accent lilting. “Oh, lovely. I planned on inviting you to a party my friend's having. I know last time I asked you, you said 'no', but that was a year ago. And I can introduce you to my friends that I'm always with.” The man had turned the television off and was walking towards him, his hands behind his back and he seemed to bounce on his heels.

A party? On a Thursday? Jordan immediately attempted to conjure up any sort of reason he couldn’t go—there could be trouble, work, classes—any of the sort.

“Can't,” Jordan finally decided, “I don't have any nice clothes.” He had retrieved ham and cheese from the fridge along with mayo and mustard. The bread looked to be dry and possibly getting far too old to eat, but he wasn't making a grocery run until he got his next pay check. Jordan wasn't going to ruin his savings fund just because of one...maybe three...four black spots on the bread. He'd live.

“No worries,” James said, and his hands moved from behind his back, a bright red box resting in front of him. “I took the measurements from your other clothes. It's a suit! It's not custom and tailored exactly to your measurements, but I'm sure you'll look dashing all the same.” James remembered something, then added, “I did modify it for your arms though. You have very hulking arms and sometimes I think you'd make a very scary thug if it wasn't for your often-harmless behavior.” Jordan would be offended by the suggestion that he was a pushover, but he was a pushover and he knew it.

  
To most—their roommate getting them a tailored suit might be odd. Jordan had been James’s roommate since his second semester of Freshman year. In that time, James had given him many strange things. To name a few: a necklace that glowed and after a few days exploded, a cactus, a small dog that turned out to be their next door neighbor’s cat, a book of puns, a stapler, a bottle of vodka, and most recently before this a different cologne—after the one Jordan just bought mysteriously vanished. Jordan had a feeling this served a clear rhyme and reason in James’s mind—but Jordan could never make sense of him. James was a remarkably quiet, responsible, and private roommate—at the end of the day—that’s all the mattered.

Smiling a little, he took a look at the dark gray suit and the washing instructions printed out and placed on top of the suit. He trusted a dry cleaner might know what it meant.

“Thank you,” Jordan said, but now his excuse had run dry and he instead put the box aside and asked, “what kind of party is it that I have to wear a full suit?”

James didn't seem to like that question. He waved his hand, as if waving the question away. “Oh, it's nothing fancy if that's what you're worried about. It's just the host is pretentious and likes everything looking rich. Don't worry, there will be plenty of booze, drunken dancing, and a performance from a few entertainers. You don't have to worry about snobbish heroes or quiet ballroom dancing.”

That satisfied Jordan. He had dealt with enough heroes lately. There was always one part of him and James shared living space that bothered him. James didn't know he possessed even a degree of power and Jordan didn't know if James did either. Of course, if he had _legally_ registered under the Power Facility, he should have it on his I.D. Jordan's I.D. was still clear, because he wasn't “marginally significant”, but come to think of it, he'd never see James with any kind of driver’s license or I.D. The man was a mystery.

“When is it?” Jordan asked. He had made his sandwich, cutting off the suspicious areas of the bread and splitting it in half just in case he couldn't finish it all before he had to change into his clothes for his other job. He was lucky he didn't have classes today or tomorrow. Everything was so hectic, and a party might be what he needed to unwind. If it was tonight, he didn't get off work until 7:30 pm. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too late, although parties with alcohol generally didn't have a such concept as 'late'.

“It starts around six, but I won't be going until nine tonight. I'm guessing you don't get off work until around...eight?” James questioned, snagging half of Jordan's sandwich.

“About then,” Jordan said. Taking a bite of his half, since James had kindly decided Jordan had split the sandwich for him.

“Good, I'll give you a ride then,” James chirped. His com suddenly lit up and the man pursed his lip. “Looks like I'm expected earlier than I thought. Don't get cold feet on me later,” James said as a farewell, grabbing his own keys from the dish before swinging out the apartment door with his jacket.

Jordan checked his watch as he finished the last bit of his sandwich. He would have to rush changing to get to work on time. The conversation with James, though not very long, was too long for his thirty minutes to eat and get changed. Pushing the party from his mind and focusing on the boring desk job he had ahead of him, Jordan went about his business as usual.

…

It was at a quarter until eight that Jordan had finally gotten off work and dashed to the bus about to fly away. He was tired, but since he mostly turned James’s invitations down, he wasn't going to ruin their fragile 'friendship', if one could even call it that, by backing out.

James was already dressed by the time Jordan got home at ten minutes past eight and he gave Jordan a wayward glance as the man dashed to the shower.

The suit had fit, and Jordan felt awkward in it. He hadn't dressed in a full suit since Prom and the feeling of being over-dressed had begun the moment he saw the price James had paid for the suit. Where James got that kind of money was as lost on Jordan as what exactly James did that only had him home most of the time between one to four in the morning.

Unsure what to do with his hair, Jordan just used a minor amount of gel to keep it from looking like a fluffy mess or miniature ‘fro. It was now going in... mostly one direction. He had just slid on his shoes when James interrupted him, sliding into the bathroom, not at all worried that Jordan could be still getting dressed.

“Charming,” James said looking him up and down. The man had also donned a suit, a dark purple color with white sparkling streaks. Jordan was not sure it should ever be worn in public, but then again, he thought the same about most of the super-hero outfits he'd seen. “Let's go down to my speed-bike.”

“Speed-bike?” Jordan was pretty sure those were banned five years ago.

“Yup,” James said, either unaware the bike was supposed to be banned or he simply did not care. Knowing how the man seemed to be ditzy sometimes, Jordan weighed that both options had equal possibility.

“Is it safe?” Jordan asked. _Is it legal, more so?_

“I'm a perfect driver,” James said in reassurance as they left their apartment, James locking the door behind them. They passed loud music shaking their neighbor's door, shouting coming from another room and a child drawing on the walls in one corridor before they got to the stairs. In the stair corridor, a few teens were smoking Spice. Spice was a recreational drug that had replaced tobacco, but it was much more dangerous to one's health, but the aroma didn't hurt bystanders and was pleasant to smell. Like cinnamon. Thus, it became a new favorite.

James gestured Jordan to the alley that Jordan normally avoided near their apartment and under a tarp, that Jordan was wondering how it could fool anyone, was a speed-bike looking brand new. How it hadn't been stolen was a mystery. To his displeasure there weren't any helmets. James had gotten on and patted the seat behind him.

“Well?” James asked, seeming unaware of Jordan's pointed stare.

“Helmets?” Jordan asked.

“No need. I am a perfect driver,” James said again, as if it cleared everything.

“Other people are not however, and they could hit us,” Jordan pointed out. James just shook his head.

“We're fine, now get on.”

He eyed the bike dubiously, but decided he had no other option if he wanted to go to this party. Reluctantly and with great caution, Jordan swung a leg over the bike and gripped the strap for the bags. He pulled it a few times to make sure it was stable before clinging to it tightly with both hands until his knuckles turned white. He was going to die on this.

  
“Are you holding onto something?” James asked.

“Yup,” Jordan said through gritted teeth. His death would be in a tumultuous explosion that would leave him partially alive only to kill him slowly.

“Good. Get ready for the time of your life,” James said cheerfully, and he revved the bike into gear.

It purred, then growled, then howled as James shot off into the air with it, going speeds Jordan was sure that the bike was banned for. His tight hold was the only thing keeping him on the bike and he wanted to close his eyes, but he had a feeling that would only make it worse.

  
James was an awful driver who didn't pay attention to any of the laws of the road at all. They bypassed stoplights, traffic sentries that started blaring as they whizzed past and weaved between normal drivers, probably giving them heart attacks. It was exhilarating, Jordan would have to admit later, but that didn't keep him from being anxious when James said it would be fun to jump a sky-train. They made it, but Jordan had screamed like a banshee at the terror of James going towards a train head on before at the last minute hitting the accelerate and twisting upwards.

“All that screaming, and I would have thought you were dying,” James hollered to him over the wind.

Jordan found that he had no voice to yell at James even if he wanted to. They passed skytowers, skyscrapers, houses, housing areas until they were on the outskirts that, ever since the apocalypse four centuries ago, no one was supposed to go beyond. There was no way past the outskirts anyway. The area was fiercely patrolled and there was a fence that would kill anything or anyone that tried.

“James, we're getting close to the outskirts,” Jordan warned, but James didn't pay him any mind.

“Don't worry your little head,” James yelled. He revved the engine and then pointed the bike downwards towards what looked like solid, unbreakable ground to Jordan. And full throttle he gunned the bike towards it.

Jordan had half a mind to let go and rely on the half-moon to form his wings or at least keep him from plummeting as fast, but he had only time to close his eyes tightly. He waited for impact, for a painful death, but it never happened. He opened his eyes wide to a gently sloping tunnel lit by many unusual colors of lights and the large mansion at the end of it with various vehicles and other modified speed-bikes parked haphazardly around it. Beyond the elaborate mansion twinkled lights of other buildings and as they drove other bikes whipped past them and even someone navigating the tunnel with jet-powered roller blades, unbothered by the bikes near them.

“Welcome, my friend, to the Underground. Where the rules above don't apply down here,” James said, his tone upbeat and chipper. Jordan realized he was very much right James had been involved in illegal activity. But not the illegal activity of simple drugs and theft.

Villains. Super villains.

James must have had some sort of power to get in past what must be a barrier. If Jordan only knew where they had been. This kind of reveal to the heroes would be big, but if this was where every villain was...it would be suicide as a hero to go in here.

Thank god, he wasn't officially a hero.

“You have super powers?” Jordan questioned as James looked around for a parking spot. He found one on top of some neatly trimmed bushes.

“Surprised?” James asked. He had turned to Jordan, his lips quirked in a bright smile. “Mine aren't anything fancy, just deception powers. They aren't approved of at that clunky ole' Power Facility and they'd make me have to register on a watch list. Down here, these powers are envied.”

Jordan had heard of deception powers and how people with them were on a tight leash, but James, James was a free roamer and constantly moving. He could imagine that following a law that restricted your every movement wouldn't be easy to accept.

“That's...amazing,” Jordan found himself saying, laughing as they climbed off the bike and down the hedge. James seemed flattered and flashed him another smile.

  
“I'm glad you're not scared out of your mind,” James said. “Normies always hate us 'villains' as if we've personally attacked them. I don't like the word villain. My friends and I call ourselves 'Wizards.'” James declared as they walked to the entrance where light and fog spilled out of the open doors. Jordan was mystified and breathing in the culture shock as if it were pure oxygen.

On one hand, after this was all done and over, if he learned anything about any major movements about villains, he should report it immediately. It might even allow him clearance.

On the other hand, this place was proving to be ten times more exciting than anything offered by the heroes.

There was a bouncer at the door with a familiar scanner Jordan knew tested for powers. The bouncer seemed familiar with James and only waved it over him for a few seconds, not even looking at the reading. When he waved it over Jordan, he was more thorough, but Jordan knew from experience. If it was hot, cloudless day, a tiny blip would _maybe_ show up. At night without even a full moon nothing, not even a microscopic tiny _blip_ would show up. The guard seemed satisfied after a moment and waved them both in.

“Not even a trace of super in your blood,” James hummed. He seemed disappointed. “What's it like?”

“Boring,” Jordan answered truthfully. Not having full powers made his life miserable. “Like you're just some tiny ant no one cares about.”

“I know that feeling,” James said. He coolly slid a hand on Jordan's back to guide him through the party, which Jordan was grateful for, because there were people everywhere. All of them seemed to have a drink in their hand with even the rare solo cups that most “formal” parties would have never even touched. Everyone was well dressed, but that didn't stop them from spilling drinks on each other and laughing. It was loose, yet exquisite, yet something magnificent. James's purple suit wasn't out of place, not by a lot. There was a suit glittering like a disco ball and on another he saw a green suit glowing.

James hummed. “I'm an ant myself in the world above, but an ant with specialties.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I hide myself and others like me from the supers, if they knew what I really was they'd be trembling, I betcha. But even a low-level super will just scoff at me as they pass, like I'm just some drunk on the streets.”

d

“I know right!” Jordan found himself animated by that. He cast a look at James, tearing his eyes from the girl's dress that changed colors. “Even if you help them, even if your job benefits them in anyway, you're nothing to them,” Jordan chimed. It was nice to be able to talk bad about the 'saviors of the city' with someone who felt the same way. If he said something like that up there, he would likely be flayed.

James looked pleased with Jordan's reactions and chuckled. “That's why I try to do my best _not_ to benefit them. If I knew you weren't for the superheroes, I'd have invited you to meet my fellow Wizards sooner. They always like meeting non-powered folk that don't look at them like they're freaks.”

They had come across another bouncer and a section of the party that was sectioned off by a magical glowing line. The bouncer wasn't muscled or carting his powers around, but sleek and smooth, dyed green hair slicked elegantly and a red scarf wrapped around his neck. Jordan tried not to stare at the scar covering nearly the mans whole right side.

“Ah, Mottled,” James greeted, earning a skeptical look from the man. “This is a guest, no magic or powers, so you can stop giving me that look and let us through.” 'Mottled' made no move to do so.

Jordan glanced down at the line. It was unfamiliar and unused around the hero corp, but he estimated it was a power sensor. He had a feeling it might detect more than the scanner could. 'Mottled' was eying him, his eyes locked on Jordan like a hawk, as if tearing through every inch of Jordan's being.

_He's a mind reader_.

Jordan was about to just run and flee. Oh god. He worked with superheroes and that man would know it easily. And he had just been thinking about his job so it wasn't like he could hide it and he was going to get killed on the spot.

'Mot' stepped aside. “He can go through,” he said tonelessly. Jordan's stomach dropped, and he stared petrified at the man. He was pretty sure he hadn't gotten the man's power wrong, yet…The man smiled at him. James gave Mot a strange look and grabbed Jordan's wrist.

“Come on now,” James said, his voice different from earlier. It wasn't angry or as if he suspected Jordan was not a 'normie', just confused. When James stepped over the sensor it glowed briefly, but when Jordan stepped over, his stomach in his throat, it didn't even flicker. Mot's eyes narrowed at that and again his eyes locked on Jordan.

“Hold up a moment,” Mot said and James looked back at him in clear frustration.

“ _What?_ ” James murmured.

A silent conversation seemed to pass between them until James turned to Jordan. He didn't seem to understand and looked at Jordan deeply and then to Mot. His eyes didn't stray from there and he seemed to stress something to Mot who just shook his head. Finally, James turned back to Jordan.

“The sensor doesn't lie, maybe it's you that's having issues,” James finally said, and he guided Jordan into the next room, muttering curses under his breath.

Jordan already knew what the issue was, but he still timidly asked. “What's wrong?”

James gestured back towards Mot and mimed the man's expression, “'Oh, I'm an ass and think everyone I don't immediately like is out to get me,'” James mocked. He cast a dark look back at Mot. “I can't believe him.” James had guided him towards a hallway which was much quieter and far from the loud noise that the party was.

There were still party goers back here, but a few of them leered at Jordan when he glanced curiously at the smaller parties. A second glance revealed this might be somewhat of a more secluded area for much more bigger faces, ones that Jordan had only likely saw with masks. They all had their fingers rested on the stems of wine glasses or near their mixed drinks and James pressed him on, urging his attention away from the private affairs of people who likely could dispose of his body neatly and without a trace if he so much coughed on them. To break the tense air, Jordan decided to ask a question that was pressing on the tip of his tongue.

“What did he say about me?” Jordan asked. So, Mot wasn't a mind reader, but Mot apparently could speak telepathically. Which...didn't say much about the rest of his powers. It was obvious Mot didn't trust him for some reason.

“That you could have powers that are either not recognized or not currently with you,” James said. “All powers are recognized, but even crazier, no one simply loses their powers.”

“Yeah...strange,” Jordan murmured, looking away from James. “What is Mot's power?”

“A telepath with an immunity to fire and explosives, but he can also _see_ powers—well-sort-of.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Long-story short he's a freak of nature after an explosive accident.” James explained. Jordan giggled.

“That makes him like an Original,” Jordan said and James nodded with a quick smile, before patting Jordan on the shoulder.

“Don’t give him that high of a title—it’ll go to his head. I wouldn't pay him much mind though, he's overly paranoid. Trust issues”

They had reached a door out of the way of the rest, tucked in a little corner. From the other side of the door came small _snaps_ , as if firecrackers were going off. James opened the door and stepped through, Jordan followed after him in surprise to see three men...or well he assumed they were all men, two of them had odd appearances, gathered around a chemistry set-up using their powers on various parts and occasionally complaining to one another. As James entered they paused in their business and immediately came to greet them.

“You're late,” one sang, the fire shooting from around his(?) mask, hands and the chemistry vials in front of him were frankly unnerving. James ducked his head as he was practically dragged into their chemistry project. The most...well, the least flamboyant one, took notice of Jordan first and pushed his safety goggles up from around his eyes to rest on his forehead. His eyes were ringed with smoke, as if an explosion had taken place and his boyish face was covered in soot. 

“Well look what our ole' cat dragged in,” the man said and gave James a look. “A normie that can stand you? Either you're in love or he's seen some shite. And knowing you,” James rolled his eyes, “I'd say I pity ya poor folk for whatever you suffered through,” the man said and while the other two men distracted James with a rather odd contraption, Jordan found himself having his hand shook excitedly by the soot-covered, goggle toting man. “Name's Phil,” he said, vigorous in nature.

The man who had pulled James over genitally was still notably flaming from beneath his mask and his hands were a blaze. As Phil spoke he paused momentarily in his actions to glare at Phil. “Don't tell strangers your real name, you dumb arse,” the man scolded.

Phil ignored him, still waiting for Jordan to introduce himself. Jordan gathered his bearings and nodded mutely. “Jordan,” he said, “nice to meet you.”

Another ‘Wizard’ faintly glowing blue turned from the smoking machine he was working on, hitting it hard as the smoke poured out. “Ah, I’m Tom—the grumpy one is Matt.”

“I’ll burn you alive, tonight,” the grumpy one, Matt, snapped.

Rolling his eyes, Phil passed a tool to Tom who fixed something on the machine—which—with one last cough, finally stopped smoking.

“Bugger off, clumsy little handed salamander eater,” Tom said under his breath.

  
“Least I know what sex is, you little bitch,” Matt responded—breaking off mid-sentence with James to deliver that. James giggled as Tom’s face went beet red.

“Not everyone recognizes a proposition for it!” As he spoke, the machine malfunctioned again and this time a laser shot from it which burned a corner of Phil’s hair—but no one, save Jordan, seemed to notice or care.

“I’m not sure how plainly they spoke, but considering you were drunk nine gates from the Reckoning,” Phil said, as Matt said something quietly to James. Jordan noticed out of the corner of his eye as he watched Phil and Tom work the look Matt was giving him. When he glanced over, however, Matt had looked away, and James was tucking something into his suit pocket. The man with fire coming from beneath his mask, Matt, returned to helping Tom get the machine under control—which was now no linger spewing smoke and lasers, but it was now letting out an odd mixture of confetti and blood.

From where either came from, Jordan couldn’t even fathom. He had half a mind and some curiosity to ask, but the sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Is the show almost ready?” someone asked, coming in from behind Jordan and James. Everyone turned to the man, and Jordan felt…strange. But the feeling passed quickly, and he scanned the man over. There was an air of power to this man that was almost palpable. He seemed familiar, but Jordan couldn't quite put his finger on it.

  
His suit was a dark red with a black vest. There was traces of bags under his eyes and a tiredness to his voice. The man's hair was spiked up, a light brown flaked with confetti as if someone had surprised him earlier with it. He wondered…if the machine was related to it—or if it was just sheer coincidence. James had almost instinctively took a step back at the sight of him and pulled Jordan back with him, making the man wonder just who this man was.

The Wizards stopped their jokes and quieted, putting on a much more serious tone. “Yes, sir. We can start it at any time, on your command of course,” the men said, glancing nervously between each other.

“Cool,” the man said and his eyes fell on James and then to Jordan. “Who's your friend?” he asked James.

“My roommate, Jordan,” James said simply. For some reason, James backed down, his natural quirks with his power quieting. Maybe it was because of the suffocating nature of the man's powers. The man looked at Jordan and then swept him up and down with a curious stare—no, not quite curious. Jordan knew that look and he immediately felt heat creep to his cheeks. That look said more than 'hey you're cute, let's go for coffee.'

The man smiled at him kindly and proffered a hand, “the name's Tom,” the man said. Jordan took it, and shook his hand firmly, hoping not to embarrass himself now that he realized the former stranger and apparently high-league super villain was checking him out. “No powers, huh,” Tom said, clicking his tongue. Jordan shook his head and Tom looked disappointed. “Damn, I was wondering how you could still be normal under my favorite new move, 'Moral Crusher'. Made it myself. It makes people feel bad, in short. Crushes their desire to live and exist, too, but that's just a bonus. Guess it needs work if it only affects supers,” Tom said, shaking his head.

Waving his hand away, Jordan watched as James sighed in relief and the Wizards began to become more animated again, accusing each other of having ones moral crushed more than the other. It was an odd and pointless argument. Jordan tuned it out and looked back towards Tom.

“That would still be useful against the heroes,” James pointed out, cracking his neck. “That made me feel like I was being punished. Like as a kid when you're scolded and made to feel bad.”

Tom shrugged, but his attention had drifted back to Jordan. The bedroom eyes were gone, and now the man had already decided he was out of Jordan’s league. Yet, he was still scrutinizing Jordan. Jordan met his eyes, confused, and Tom drew back immediately. He turned his eyes to a clipboard dangling from his hand, drumming his fingers on the clipboard.

“You work out?” Tom said idly, as the wizards argued. Jordan looked to James who was quietly watching Tom and him with a reserved curiosity.

“Most days of the week.” Jordan said. Tom snorted. He made a gesture towards James, but when Jordan followed it to look at James, he found James silent. Tom was an odd one. “Why?”

“Oh, just seeing if you’d have stamina—if we fucked, I mean,” Tom said, turning to him with a wink without much fanfare and Jordan felt his cheeks heat up. He had a feeling this wasn’t why Tom was staring at him or asked that in the first-place.

“Why else did you ask—” Jordan started, but was interrupted by James who laughed oddly.

“Don’t be vulgar, Tom.”

  
“Jordan’s interested in me, so it’s fine,” Tom insisted, and Jordan felt a pit of frustration in him. He wasn’t…

  
“Okay, first off—no I’m not,” Jordan started, but again Tom cut in.

“Oh—you’re not? Am I not pretty enough,” Tom said, leaning against the wall. Jordan glowered at him, locking his jaw. He opened his mouth and found himself soundless, and Tom smirked. He took a step towards Jordan, and picked at a stray piece of confetti on Jordan’s suit.

“I’ll see you around—you’ll like my show,” Tom said, and left, leaving Jordan staring mouth agape.

  
“Who is he?” Jordan said after a breath.

“Syndicate,” James said. He was quieter than usual and he patted Jordan on the back.

“He’s awful,” Jordan said. He folded in on himself and pushed his hair off his forehead.

“He's not too bad. Wait until he's calmed down from his partying high. He's been drinking likely and thinks he's invincible,” James defended weakly. He had seen his fair sides of Tom and sadly the side Jordan saw was the one that showed its face the most. “Let's go get good seats for the show,” James said, gesturing that they should leave.

All this talk about the show and Jordan hadn't even heard one word to what it was about. “So, what exactly is this show?”


	2. The Party

_“Ladies and gentleman,_ drunks and people lurking towards the edges thinking about leaving, prepare to be blown away, by something spectacular, something marvelous, I give you the _Enchanting_ ,” the emcee said, his hand waving towards a group of five or so men. Jordan watched them with curiosity staying near James as the crowd around them churned and inched closer to the stage. Jordan felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness. He wasn't sure what to expect from a show in a villain lair. Maybe them torturing superheroes for entertainment or auctioning off superhero relics. However, he could tell it was going to defy his expectations.

  
In the world above, public displays of power for someone's own pleasure or doing was illegal unless it was an accident. Powers were strictly regulated in the world above, but down here, Jordan had seen a few people lighting Spice sticks and cooling their drinks with their powers. It was just so loose and comfortable, he felt more at home. Even without the same level of powers, it just felt right.

The men on stage were arranged in an arrow shape. The one leading suddenly pulled the room into darkness and the others cast out different colored lights. They filled the large room and the men started moving. The lights followed their hands and mixed, casting the watching audience in different shades. It didn't stop at right there, but a music started to kick up. The men let the lights go out for a moment, and then the room exploded into lights, fog and even different aromas, jumping with the music.

It changed and nearly blinded Jordan, trying to keep up with the lights as they twisted and moved. The fog swirled and he saw a group of guys nearby playing with the fog a little. One of them was twisting it in an innocuous tornado, sending it towards a girl with a loose dress, laughing as it went up to reveal a lacy set of underwear.

And just as active as the dancing men on stage with the light-show, the crowd still continued its life. Small fights, small dances and even...Jordan diverted his attention from the couple practically tearing each other's lips off. Beside Jordan, James leaned over and said something close to Jordan so he could hear it over the noise.

“They have another banned power, can you guess what it is?” James questioned, seeming unaffected unlike those around him. Jordan shook his head and turned his head to James in question, raising an eyebrow. He doubted James would be able to see it in the constantly changing light, but he must have. “'Enchant' is a loose term for causing 'excitement'. It's considered a low-power, it doesn't have any positive use according to the Power Facility, but...it seems to work well at parties,” James explained.

Jordan watched in horror as a much more violent fight broke out in front of them, two girls practically tearing each other’s hair out. He looked to James and hissed, “shouldn't we stop them?”

James shook his head. “It's only temporary, wait a few seconds, you'll see.” The lights went dim again and a strong aroma swept through the area. Jordan didn't feel affected by it, but James had covered his nose and mouth, evidently aware of what it was going to do and avoided it at all costs. Any fights going on turned into passionate PDA performances and any PDA turned into fights. It was a sight to see, and Jordan watched it with open eyes and wonder.

“You're immune to it,” James observed. “Lucky trait. I personally like being in control of my hormones.”

“That's what it does?” Jordan questioned, stepping to the side as someone crashed nearby them. It made much more sense now and he wondered what exactly was the purpose of the lights? He did know certain lights could evoke different moods usually. Maybe that was why. “And is it because I'm powerless?”

“No,” James said, looking at Jordan critically as a pink flash of light passed over them. “I'm not sure.” He shook his head and moved past the matter. “And yes, they can encourage hormones.”

As the song reached a climax they pulled back and bowed, their fog and light going back with them, to Jordan's relief. The crowd, seeming in a state of bemusement, clapped slowly before applauding, helping each other up and laughing. No one took what happened as a cruel prank, not even the couples or now awkward strangers that had kissed felt any offense.

The men left and the emcee returned. Jordan felt a yawn come on and he ducked his head away from the stage. He was getting tired. This had been a blast and Jordan had enjoyed his time here, but it had been a long day and he needed some sleep. He should ask James if they could leave, but James had disappeared, leaving Jordan in the crowd alone.

A wave of anxiety washed over him and Jordan looked around in a small 360, but James was nowhere to be seen. The emcee had finished the introduction and the next act had started. Jordan reluctantly turned his eyes to the stage to see it was the Wizards.

There were no lights. No music. No fancy dances. Just them, all grinning from ear to ear. They exchanged glances, and like that, the show began.

A dragon made of fire swept over the crowd, cast by one of the Wizards wearing a suit and mask with flames jutting out from it. At the same time the wizard wearing a blue suit and simple black mask spun and released what looked like some type of sea monster while the third wizard wearing a dark brown suit and goggles created an illusion of something monstrous coming up from the ground in the middle of the crowd. All three beasts churned and ran through the patrons until running into the ceiling and exploding into confetti.

The crowd clapped, but before it had even ended, they had already started another trick again. A wave of blue spread over the crowd and the red wove where the blue did not and the brown magic spread over their heads. It was dizzying and hard to keep up with. It wove through strands of his hair, through his fingers, and around his suit until it was dissipating and the Wizards fired blasts of raw energy into the crowd.

  
When they hit someone, they didn't burn them, but instead exploded in water, drenching the poor person. One burst came towards Jordan and the people near him, but his instincts kicked in and he ducked. It worked. The blast hit the people behind him, soaking them in water. A few drops had hit Jordan, but he found himself laughing at having avoided that and watched the girls desperately tried to wring out their dresses.

The Wizards combined their powers and out of what looked like a portal to hell came...James. Jordan recognized the purple suit, even with the man's mask on. His power might have been deception, but he made it look like magic, pulling a purple churning light from behind him and throwing it forward like pitching a baseball. It expanded and turned into a dolphin, swimming through the air before hitting a wall and exploding into smaller fish, that rained down and flopped on the audience. To Jordan's surprise and wonder, the fish were alive and real, all desperately looking for water that wasn't nearby

It surprised him even more, when the scaly wet fish that had hit him, that he had felt, melted back into soft lights that twinkled out.

The Wizards and James bowed. Jordan hadn't clapped for the first act, but he wolf whistled along with the crowd and clapped as hard as he could. That had been exhilarating, amazing and much greater than anything he'd ever seen. Why would someone ban something when it could give you shows like this?

“And for the final act,” the emcee had said, having reappeared, “we have no other than everyone's favorite, Syndicate.”

For a moment, Jordan was more stunned that the most infamous villain performs an act for entertainment than he was at the fact that Syndicate—Tom literally tore his suit off and remained in boxers and his mask for his show. It wasn't like they were sexy boxers, they were literally just boxers, but Jordan was starting to wonder if the man was gone in the head.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and James had weaved back to stand with him, panting slightly. Jordan tore his eyes from whatever Tom was about to do to talk to James. “Your act was awesome,” Jordan complimented.

James swelled in pride and smiled, “thank you! I can't do as many tricks as they can, but they still let me do it with them. How were the fish?”

“I thought they were real,” Jordan said.

That excited James and he happily clapped his hands together. “I'm glad. It took me weeks to make them even not immediately fade the moment they hit something.”

A loud crack distracted them from their conversation and to Jordan's horror, Tom had brought down part of the ceiling and stage in whatever the hell he was doing. There were shocked gasps and murmurs, but it gave away as someone hollered “he's standing right there.” The crowd turned around all at once, to see Syndicate standing at the other side of the room, sitting on a bar stool at the bar that had emptied when the show began.

“No there he is!” came another shout, and again the crowd turned to see Syndicate standing perfectly fine against the wall. Jordan didn't turn this time, and turned to face front as he watched the fallen in ceiling and curtains disappear completely, not even melting away, but just drifting back to where they belonged, as if they had never fell.

And in front of him passed a person. Syndicate. The man was inches away and Jordan felt the faint ghost of a hand on his cheek and lips on his before it was gone and Syndicate was standing on stage, still in his suit as if nothing had changed from the moment he walked on.

“What even...” Jordan had murmured.

“Now that,” James began, “is the kind of level of deception powers I want to have one day.” James was looking at Tom in a kind of respect and admiration from a child to his idol.   
  


“That's crazy,” Jordan muttered, realizing it had all been a deception. All of it just the manipulation from Tom's deception powers. It had looked, sounded and felt so real. Viscerally, Jordan rubbed his lips wondering how someone could manage to throw their powers in so many places at once.

“That's Tom for you,” James said with a snort. “Every part of him is crazy.”

His act hadn't ended there and Syndicate—Tom tapped on a hover-microphone, clearing his throat. “So, how does the idea of 5000 credits sound?” The crowd roared.

“Credits are the currency we use down here,” James explained to a mildly curious Jordan.

Tom continued, “Let's have a scavenger hunt. I'm going to disappear and in my place are going to be hundreds of me. I know that idea excites some of you in more than one way.” Jordan saw to his horror, Tom's eyes had locked on his general direction. There were a few cat calls and hollers, but Tom paid no mind, his eyes still on Jordan. “Whoever finds the real me wins.”

And with that, Tom was everywhere and Jordan wanted nothing more than to leave then. Because it was embarrassing. Because it was stupid. And because he actually found Tom's actions...some part of them...thrilling. They illicit a long dead feeling of attraction in Jordan's chest and he felt heat rise to his cheeks. He found Tom charming, even if the man was just as equally annoying.

And so bad for him. On so many levels. This would not lead to a permanent and healthy relationship—not that Jordan wanted either. Why was he even considering it? Why did he consider it? He should just leave now. Leave before he actually was enchanted. Wooed. Tom was not a good candidate for a partner.

James was glancing around, casually regarding the sea of Toms with mild scrutiny. “I could use 5000 credits,” he murmured.

“How would you know which one is the real Tom?” Jordan asked as a random Tom brushed by him. They all looked the same. Just shades of gray and he watched people frenetically grasp at some only to have them flicker or dissipate.

“Instinct,” James replied

Jordan glanced around the sea of Toms to find one, that walked around just like the rest, seemed to carry the same neutral expression, but his eyes moved. All at once, that Tom's eyes locked on Jordan's, meeting his in a silent invitation.

It was curiosity, Jordan argued, that drew him away from James and in pursuit of that Tom as it turned its back and started walking away from Jordan. He weaved past people, past other fake Toms until he was a foot away from the Tom. Only to find it wasn't real. He was sure the Tom that had made eye contact with him was real, but now Jordan was at a far corner of the party and he didn't know how to get back to James.

As he turned around away from a mostly barren serving table full of small finger foods he ran into someone. He made to push them away, but they caught his wrist and a hand had tangled into his hair. Before he even saw their face, he was pulled into a blistering kiss. Jordan found himself falling, his thoughts going blank as his free hand gripped their shoulder and pulled them closer. He tilted his head as the kiss deepened and the hand holding his wrist dropped to his waist. They were as close as humanly possible, hips pressed hard against each other, lips locked in a heated kiss. And when Jordan broke for air, it was Tom. Standing there in full glory.

It wasn't the clearest of thoughts, but Jordan realized they were in the same height and that seemed more than comedic since everyone was so scared of a man that was five-foot seven.

From the other side of the crowd someone screamed they had found the real Tom and there was an announcement, declaring them the winner. Jordan looked at what must be a clone in confusion, but Tom had put a finger to Jordan's lips.

“Just enjoy the moment,” Tom whispered, and he pulled Jordan in for another kiss.

But Jordan pushed him away this time. Tom seemed offended, but with a sigh, he vanished, dissolving into a puff of smoke leaving Jordan feeling a strange sense of emptiness and the feeling of being conned. It wasn't real.

And for some reason, that made him all kinds of angry and upset. He couldn't believe himself. It wasn't like he was overly zealous about the law and defending the supers, but Tom was an asshole and he couldn't believe he had fallen for a villain.

Screw hormones. This shouldn’t be his mindset.

In a fit of irritation, Jordan turned away from the party, with the idea that he would just wait outside or something until James could give him a ride home. Faintly he heard the emcee had announced on stage that the area was going back to being a dance floor. Music had started up again, just an idle background noise to Jordan's ears.

He found the door out of the party room and pushed out of it, finding the other part of the party that had been full of people drinking empty. He was all too glad for it at the moment and stood in the white room for a moment breathing angrily. All at once his actions came crashing down painfully.

What was he doing here? Surrounded by villains? Enjoying himself? Breaking all the rules and laws he had so diligently followed. The laws existed for a reason and he knew that himself well. Yet here he was being an idiot and ruining the life he had above.

The door behind him opened and the music in the other room poured in for a moment before becoming a muffled buzz again. Jordan turned around to see who it was and felt a wave of anger. It was Tom.

“You...you tricked me,” Jordan said, shoving a finger into Tom's chest.

“I didn't,” Tom said, clasping Jordan's hand. He looked so brutally human in that moment. Not the arrogant villain, not the wild man from earlier, but like just another person that Jordan softened for a moment. “You could say I lied and cheated you out of 5,000 credits, but I didn't trick you.”

“I…” Jordan shook his head and started to pull away. “I shouldn't be here. Around any of _you_.”

Tom let go for a moment, only to take a step towards Jordan and reach for him. “You don't mean that.”

“I do,” Jordan said and he turned away, but Tom still stood there, reaching out a hand for him.

“Then prove it. Turn around and tell me you don't like me.”

Jordan turned around, but looking at the man in front of him with his dirty blonde hair starting to lie flat from sweat and the brown eyes staring into his with an earthy soul crushing way. And Jordan couldn't deny it.

He took the hand Tom was offering to him and was pulled into a kiss that was slower and gentler than the one before, but still just as stomach dropping. Jordan slid his hand into Tom's hair and angled the man's mouth to more properly meet his own.

_Lights falling down to me_

Tom unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid his hand under the fabric. His hand rested above Jordan's heart, the heat of his skin felt event through the dress shirt he still wore.

_Makes me grin and be_

His other hand gripped his hair as if his life depended on it. The pale fingers clenched in black curls.

_Just another wonderful dancer_

Jordan let his own hand just settle on Tom's hip, but it soon fisted his shirt as the kiss picked up tension.

_Here I am not a queen_

Tom's hips were flush against Jordan's, a pleasant heat shooting southwards as his hips rubbed against his as the man pushed to take more control of the kiss. The friction sent chills down Jordan's spine.

_You are not a king_

That hand above his heart grabbed the back of his neck and the kiss left bruises against Jordan's mouth. Jordan sunk into it, willing himself to ignore the burn in the back of his throat for air until he had no choice. The two stood there, breathless and leaning on each other.

_Just another wonderful dancer_

“We should find a bed,” Tom whispered against his ear, the warm breath tickling his ear. However, as much as Jordan had enjoyed it, there was the daunting feeling that this would only end in misery. It wasn't just self-doubt about his own not very exciting personality and lack of powers, but he could tell Tom was only interested in him for his looks. As much as Jordan wanted to have under his belt 'I lost my anal virginity to the second worst villain in history' he pulled away.

“I have to get home,” Jordan said, rubbing the back of his neck. His lips still tingled as he moved them to talk. Tom just smiled and tried to pull him closer again.

“Then invite me back to your place,” Tom suggested, leaning against Jordan's body, trying to press himself into areas he had picked up were sensitive. Jordan put his hands on Tom's chest and pushed him back firmly.

“I'm not hooking up with you,” Jordan said and Tom's smile fell.

“What's wrong with me?” Tom said, grabbing Jordan's wrists. The man was staring at him with dark eyes still half filled with lust and other half filled with a rising anger. The grip was semi-threatening.

“Tom, I'm leaving. It was nice...getting to know you, but I'm not looking for a fling,” Jordan said in a tone of finality. Tom's grip slackened and he let Jordan put more distance between them.

“Fine,” Tom looked disappointed, a falling sense of regret and then his eyes immediately darkened. “Plenty of more people I can frigging screw.” Turning on heel, he slammed the white door behind him. It was a few moments later when James entered, looking beyond relieved Jordan was in one piece.

“Oh, thank the heavens,” James said in a hushed tone. “I was sure you'd be dead or something. He's not happy,” James commented as he started guiding Jordan towards the exit.

“I rejected him,” Jordan explained, and James raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” James was a little surprised. Then he smiled and patted Jordan happily on the shoulder. “I should buy you a drink for that. It's about time someone did.” They had reached the outside where the speed-bike was parked on the bushes still. They climbed up there and James flashed Jordan a smile as the man remembered the terrifying ride they had before.

“It's better the second time around...” James defended weakly.


	3. Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gun, sexism, slightly relevant discussions to IRL issues, fire

It had not been better the second time around and Jordan slept in as much as possible to avoid the headache. When he got up around two in the afternoon, James was home and sprawled on the couch watching the news. He looked over his shoulder at the TV and raised an eyebrow.

“What's going on?” Jordan asked and James leaned his head back to look at him, frowning.

“A raid,” James said simply. “Unluckily, on the place I was planning to work at today.” He gestured the building burning on screen. “However, countermeasures are in place and no one scheduled showed up today.” The man drummed his fingers on his leg and tapped his other foot nervously against the ground. “But...with tensions rising like this...bigger countermeasures might happen.”

Jordan didn't like the sound of that. It was blatantly a threat towards the rest of society. Jordan sat beside him on the couch, staring at the reporter on screen keeping a commentary going on death tolls, which were luckily under ten, and injuries which were under a hundred. The heroes had made an attack against the super villain population. Their attack only led to the place exploding, but not one capture, yet James was nervous as if that building might as well been the heart of operations—which Jordan doubted having seen only a fraction of their underground expanse.

“Why? Was there something important there?” Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow at what hardly was a four-story building. What could be hiding there that was so important?

James feigned a smile, “Nothing. Just...nothing.” James stared at the burning flames on the screen, “nothing at all.”

“And nothing is making you that nervous?” Jordan asked doubtfully with a snort. James actually snickered a little.

“It's not so much the 'nothing' that makes me nervous. It's just that nothing is just another something, for a bigger something that was less...deadly than the other somethings,” James explained vaguely. “Except, now it's gone. There's just more somethings that are worse somethings that will cause a lot of...a lot of lot.” James broke off dully with a huff and muttered something about going to go buy a snack of some sort, he hadn't decided yet.

Jordan stared after James as the man abruptly flipped of the television and practically flung himself outside the apartment. Whatever had happened, it was a confusing circumstance; that much was apparent. Shaking away the thoughts, Jordan concentrated on making a cup of coffee, his eyelids drooping slightly as he felt the slight grogginess of waking up fill his mind.

He was just dozing off next to the machine when his com rang. At first, he thought it might have been James's com, but the tone was his ringtone. Just a few simple beeps. If he was called in today, he was going to be mad. He’d drop Jericho and be done with that job for good.Without checking the caller, he picked it up.

“Hello?” Jordan asked.

“Hey, are you free today?” It was not an unwelcomed voice, but rather family. Jordan turned the com's volume up and tried to sober up.

“Yeah, I can be, Martha,” Jordan tried to say quickly. His older sister had been calling him. Damn, he chose a rotten night to go out on. He had forgotten Martha mentioned she had wanted to hang out.

“Funny, because you already missed the breakfast we scheduled,” she said miffed.

“Look, Martha I got distracted,” Jordan tried, but she cut him off with a sigh.

“I get you. Overworking yourself again, aren't you? Like always,” she said, her voice was dejected on the other end. “Hey, send me your address. I'll just come over.”

“No, I'll come meet you-” Jordan tried to argue.

“You haven't shown me this apartment you've had for two years, time to show me now or I'll come by later on my own terms,” Martha warned, and Jordan sighed.

  
“Seventh ring, eightieth block, building 401, apartment number 207,” Jordan rattled off. He could practically hear the disappointment in Martha's voice.

“All that work, and you won't treat yourself to a better place. What about living on campus? It's safer, cleaner,” Martha argued.

“More costly,” Jordan murmured, “too many supers.”

Martha tsks on the other end. “I'll be over in a few minutes. Get dressed. I can tell you just woke up.” He hears her hang up and sets his com down. Frantically, he throws on clothes and brushes his teeth. His sister is anything, but slow and he knows she'll be over in a matter of seconds—or so it seems like. He had just gotten his mouth rinsed and a clean shirt over his head when there was a knock at the door.   
  
“Coming, Martha—” Jordan strode to the door and opened it without a second thought and immediately was greeted by most definitely Not-Martha. The man standing before him was…a part of the Human Rights department of the Power Facility, a familiar face. A big man in stature—not so much in height. Still he was taller than Jordan and had a thick bushy moustache. He had a tailored suit on and gel slicked through his balding hair.   
  
“Not who you expected?” the man, Mr. Herald—Harold Herald in fact—a well-known journalist of super-heroes long before he was in the Human Rights department. “Mind if I step in?”

“No, please do,” Jordan lied. His stomach felt cold. It couldn’t be a coincidence could it. He didn’t see any goons outside to drag him away, but he wasn’t going to pretend that meant he was safe. “What brings you here?”

“Curiosity—and a bit of a file we’ve been forming on you, Mr. Maron,” as Jordan’s eyebrows rose the man chuckled, “nothing to worry about—no, no—you’re not in trouble. It’s—your lack of power-manifestation has become a topic of concern, as you’re likely aware of. No doubt it’s been brought up often by our facility?” Jordan nodded. Mr. Herald gestured to Jordan’s meager table in the kitchen and they both sat at it, Jordan folded in on himself feeling far too nervous. “You see—you always leave the family history part blank and in light of recently discovered…mutations,” he gestured grandly. “We want to see if it’s a family or genetic issue before looking at the more nefarious options.”

“Nefarious…?” Jordan asked.

  
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose the matter. We just simply found out recently that the little scare with power mutations is bigger than we thought,” Mr. Herald pulled out a brief case and pulled from it a small kit and looked at Jordan with a broad reassuring smile. “Refresh me on—what is it, Freshman biology—what is a power mutation Jordan?”

“Manufactured changes to someone’s biological powers—whether through stimulants, injections, or genetic alteration,” Jordan said, but he had a sick feeling in his stomach. “Mr. Herald as I’ve told the Power Facility I was adopted…”

“Yes, you did,” Mr. Herald said with a soft chuckle. “We understand entirely. We’ll just be taking a blood sample and running it through our systems—free of charge. We might even find your parents.” The lighthearted attempt at a joke weighed heavy on Jordan’s stomach. He knew not what caused his powers and lack of them, but he knew what the treatment for power mutations was. He remembers the kid in their Junior year of high-school who was found to have had one—a medicine he was taking caused an adverse reaction in his powers.

  
Just a usual teen. He had severe allergies and so they were treating him, but they just had to change his medicine due to new government changes that pushed one brand out and threw in a cheaper alternative. His electricity powers began to fritz. Growing worse and more erratic. He couldn’t keep lights from popping out. His hair was constantly in a mess. Eyes wild with fear.

  
Jordan remembered when he came back Senior year. Hollow eyed. Powerless. Drained of any sort of…anything.

And when a few weeks later the daily news for the school day included a sad message that fellow student passed away due to a tragic fall off one of the apartment towers. Jordan knew what kind of correction would await him if they thought there was a manufactured mutation.

  
“All-right,” Jordan murmured, but he didn’t mean that either. “He held out his arm and Mr. Herald pulled a small band that glowed white and inserted an empty capsule into it before snapping it around Jordan’s arm. The band whirred as it found a vein, fixing itself before the needle plunged in and Jordan hissed, but it was over in a second, the capsule filled, and a bandage and salve covered the puncture area.

Mr. Herald collected the blood sample and slid it into its case again but didn’t leave. He pulled out one more piece of paper and slid it across the table. Jordan read it, and again his stomach fell. “Sir…?”  
  
“It’s the natural order of things,” Mr. Herald said in answer. “Look it over, think about it—and sign and date when you understand under either option. There’s a copy beneath it for you to keep.” Jordan took the ball point pen he proffered and signed the paper quickly and slid it over to him. He didn’t say anything as Mr. Herald stood, wished him a good day, and left.

Jordan heard Martha knock moments later—and he could hardly leave the table, staring at his copy of the paper.

_“As of the Law to Protect Addendum [34-B] all non or insufficiently powered volunteers or employed by the Facility will need to relocate to live in an inner-circle in mandated PF housing. Further information will be provided. These changes will take effect in four weeks on Nov. 15. If volunteer or employee wishes to remain in current residence, they must apply and allow a mandatory inspection to vouch for the residence’s safety. All living in the residence must submit to background checks._

_I, volunteer or employee for the Control and Order of Super-Powers Facilities; and Court of Civil Affairs, agree to the changes and will comply with further instructions as they come._

_Sign______ Date:___________

_  
I, volunteer or employee for the Control and Order of Super-Powers Facilities; and the Court of Civil Affairs, disagree to the changes and will submit necessary paperwork and undergo further inspections to meet the demands requested._

_Sign______ Date: ___________

_  
“_

Jordan didn’t bother to read the full explanation of the new law—it didn’t matter. What the Facility said would happen regardless of anyone’s cooperation. He answered the door to an annoyed Martha, but at his expression she softened. “Work or school?”  
  
“Work—the Power Facility,” he said, and he sat on the couch, resting his head in his hands. “Read the paper on the table.”

  
They forwent standard greeting as Martha quickly found the note and read over it. Her expression unfurled and she grew upset for Jordan. “This is insane! They can’t do that—not after they demanded that all summer of your high-school years—they can’t keep demanding these things of you!”

“They can and they do,” Jordan muttered. “So is the gift of shitty powers.”

“Bull. Shit,” Martha enunciated. She pulled Jordan into a hug and he gracelessly accepted it, ducking his head. She let him go, looking around the apartment for a moment, a frown forming.

“Not so great, is it?” Jordan asked half-hearted, folding the note up and tossing it into the trash.

“Mm,” Martha shrugged. “I shouldn’t have given you slack. It is definitely better than the inner-circle.”

“Yeah, nothing like living next door to the world’s most annoying supers,” he bitterly muttered. She sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her for him to sit down. He did. Jordan turned to look at his sister and wasn’t surprised. She looked as regal as usual, with crisp black slacks and a lavender button up shirt with her hair arranged neatly into a bun. Not a single strand out of place. “You’re looking well,” he said.

“And you look remarkably hung-over,” she said. He laughed and waved her off.

  
“I didn’t drink, just a wild…” he trailed off, wondering whether to tell her.

“Wild night?”

“Yeah, went to a party,” Jordan said. She smiled brightly.

“I’m glad. You deserve to have fun,” she said. “I’ll excuse your absence at breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Jordan muttered, and they trailed into awkward silence. Maybe it was because Martha was far older than he was, maybe it was because Jordan’s head was still swimming with the news of the morning and the party he went to the other day, but he couldn’t think of hardly any words to say to his sister. They kept in touch over the phone well enough, but they hardly ever visited.

Martha was busy. Jordan was busy. Between their hectic schedules, they hardly ever spoke.

“Jordan,” Martha said softly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  
Jordan’s eyes shot to her. “Oh? Did you find a boyfriend finally?” he teased.

She frowned and didn’t seem humored. She stood up and faced him, assuming the hands-on-hips position of the famous “Martha’s planning to lecture him into the next morning” pose, but they were interrupted. James flung open the door to the apartment, looking like he was mugged—that or had a nasty fight.

Martha went silent and so did James, both staring at each other in what Jordan assumed to be surprise. He hadn’t really told Martha much about James and right now—he certainly was a sight. Martha recovered first. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” James answered quickly. He walked into the apartment, tossed the remains of his jacket on the couch and walked into his room without another word.

They both were silent for a moment. “Sorry—that’s my roommate James…” Jordan said, and he glanced in the direction of James’s room. “Maybe I should see if he’s okay?”

Martha nodded. “You do that.” She glanced at her phone. “I just remembered I need to call someone.” She stepped into the hallway and Jordan sighed and resolved himself. He knocked on the door to James’s room.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jordan asked. He had no idea what to do if James responded no, but he thought he ought to ask.

James opened the door to his room, only the light from their living area illuminating him. His room was strangely dark. He leaned in the doorway and gave Jordan a small grimace. He wore a singed t-shirt hanging loosely on his lanky shoulders and jeans smoldering at the ankles and knees. “Ah, I’m thankful for your concern, but it’s no bother. Work didn’t start well today. A small…issue was waiting at the door.”

Jordan snorted. “You look like you were an explosion.”

“I was in an explosion. I…” James hesitated. “Jordan, I know we don’t know each other well, but after the time we spent at the party—I do trust you aren’t overly-friendly with superheroes? Am I right?”

  
Jordan nodded, and James sighed. He reached over and turned the light on in his room, revealing firstly—how messy his room was.

Knickknacks and technology were littered on shelves, on a table and on the floor, some blipping with lights and others in states of destruction. A few loose articles of clothes were on the ground trampled, and the blazer from the party was slung over a pile of robot parts. The bed in the corner of the room was mere more than a cot, shoved against the wall with blankets messily bunched together at the end.

And secondly, how illegal most of the technology littering his room was. Jordan couldn’t help but gawk. How had James ever got most of this in here without him noticing? Jordan was out of the apartment a lot, but he had always assumed James was too. Guess not nearly as much as Jordan thought.

James took a seat on the edge of his bed and gestured to one of two chairs in the room. A fold out patio chair. The other chair was playing host to a variety of robot parts from sentry robots to enforcing robots to a few more human animatronics frankensteined together to form a humanoid shape that was disturbing, despite the small attempts of a birthday hat on its head and a chicken mask on it to make it more welcoming.

James sighed.

  
“I caused the explosion and the second building I was at was raided by superheroes. They’re growing more obsessed with stopping us, probably because…” James trailed off. He grimaced. “Probably because they’re succeeding.”

“That’s…” Jordan wasn’t sure what to say. “Rough?” James laughed. He picked up an errant small piece of tech near the head of his bed.

“Yup, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they grow more defensive. We grow more desperate, we slip up, and they pounce on it,” James muttered. “It’d help if our leader wasn’t…” He stopped and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry it’s going so poorly,” Jordan weakly consoled. He leaned forward, fiddling with a loose string on his sweats. “I’m no fan of the supers or the P.F. especially since I’ve got to go live in their company.”

James’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope, got the notice today after you left,” Jordan said with a shrug. “I’m not overjoyed. Despite the fact we rarely talked, you were a good roommate. Since most of the communication near there is monitored and you’re well,” Jordan gestured around James’s room. “I probably shouldn’t contact you once I move.”

James’s mouth twisted down sourly. He tossed the piece of tech down on his bed, and beckoned Jordan to stand as well. Jordan did, not sure why. Until James pulled him into a tight hug. He at first was too stricken to return it, but he did hesitantly. He pat James’s back.

  
“Jordan, you won’t have to go. I have connections. I can get you—”

Jordan shook his head and pulled out of the hug. “That’s nice, James, but I have classes, a job, a contract with them—” he waved James off. “I’m not exactly able to just step out of my life.” James looked stricken, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Jordan…”

“I’m sure the villains have a nice dark hide-out somewhere, but I’d kind of not like to live my life in hiding,” Jordan said. There was a soft knock on James’s open door. It was Martha in the doorway.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh,” Jordan suddenly realized Martha worked in a pretty high place and they were surrounded by illegal material. “Yeah, do you want to go out for dinner, Martha?” Despite the amount of tech that’s practically unmissable, Martha didn’t seem fazed.

“Sure.”

Jordan glanced back at James and found him looking away, fiddling with a piece of tech. He sighed.

“We can talk about it more later, James.”

“Jordan, I’m not going to suggest for you to do something you don’t want to do,” James said quietly. “I’ll…”

“James,” it was Martha who spoke. “I’m just as upset about it as you.” He glanced at her at first in confusion, then surprise. Jordan surmised she guessed what he had told James. “If there’s a way to stop it. I’ll find it.”

“That’s really nice of both of you, but they’re kind of the government. What they say, goes,” Jordan said glancing between both of them. They didn’t give him much of a response. Martha headed back to the living room and Jordan followed, noting the way James closed the door almost as soon as he was out. “Seriously, Martha. I’m not just able to walk away from my life or live like James, off the grid. Oh, right. Don’t tell anyone he’s kind of…”

“I won’t, trust me,” Martha said. “Jordan, honey, I care about you. Clearly so does James. Do you realize how…”

Jordan felt his ears redden in embarrassment. He shrugged. “Look, Martha. I’m sure it’s only temporary.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Jordan crossed his arms. “What sounds good for dinner?” he asked instead.

“I,” Martha shook her head. “I’m sorry for saying ‘sure.’ I can’t stay. The phone call was about an incident I need to attend to at work.”

  
Jordan nodded. “I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer, Martha.”

“As am I. Take care of yourself, Jordan.”

“I always do.”

Martha snorted. She left in quiet hurry and as the door closed behind her, he felt a sense of loss. He would miss this apartment. He would miss James. He’d regret they didn’t get to know each other better. He could imagine James would have been a good friend.

In the sudden quiet of the apartment, Jordan felt at a loss. He turned on the television and watched mindlessly some teledrama movie he’d never seen before already halfway through. He just didn’t want to think about the contract he’d signed or how both his sister and roommate agreed it was a terrible situation.

Jordan ended up ordering pizza, too tired to watch his budget and hoping partially the smell of pizza would tempt James out of his apartment so he could at least…apologize? Promise James he’d find a way to keep in touch? Hear James out on his probably ridiculous idea to keep him from going to the inner circle? What could he do?

James did duck his head out and eyed the pizza box. “Have extra?”

“I do.”

James stepped out and helped himself to a few pieces and sat next to Jordan on the couch. “What’re you watching? And why’d your sister leave in such a hurry?”

  
“No idea and work.”

James took a bite of his pizza and eyed the television and then his ruined jacket. He wadded it up with one hand and threw it in the direction of the trash-can. It missed.

“You know, you could still rebel. Be a villain.”

Jordan nearly choked on his pizza. He swallowed and glanced over at James. “What? I mean, I know some computer science and computing, but nothing spectacular, James. I’m not exactly on the cusp of amazing. More on the cusp of normal.”

James crossed his legs underneath him. “I didn’t start off as amazing.”

  
“You have powers,” Jordan said.

“So?”

Jordan continued eating rather than answer. James continued.

“My powers don’t make me a better person. I just choose to use them in a way that says, ‘fuck the supers.’”

“They make it easier,” Jordan said around his food.

“Maybe, but there’s plenty of villains that don’t have powers.”

“None that I’ve seen.”

“Not every villain, especially those without powers, can be sticking it directly to superheroes. There are other jobs that are available. Some people don’t want to be in danger.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“Maybe,” James admitted. “There’s some issues. Less privacy. Crowded. Some bad apples. Some crimes still. But less bad then here.”

“Doubt it,” Jordan said, and James rolled his eyes.

“You’re very cynical.”

“Thanks,” Jordan said. He hadn’t been watching the movie for the past few minutes and so when the loud explosion echoed in it, he jumped. Luckily, James was just as startled. He nearly dropped his plate.

“Neither of us have been watching it, have we?”

“Nope,” Jordan admitted. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Already?” James asked surprised.

“Yup,” Jordan said.

“Fear I might make a valid point?”

“Nope,” Jordan said, but he did to a degree. He didn’t want to think about what James was talking about or what it entailed. There couldn’t be that easy of an answer. It was never that easy.

It took longer than he wanted to fall asleep. His eyes glued to the ceiling.

……..…

Jordan's called in Saturday to work, but he expected it. James was gone again from the apartment when he awoke. Jordan swallowed down the feeling of disappointment at the empty apartment. Guess it’s back to the usual. He picks up James’s ruined jacket lying next to the trashcan and tosses it fully in. He dresses and eats quickly before reporting with his guest pass to the Hero Headquarters.

There’re not just a few teams there today, but hundreds of teams and many, dozens of volunteers, identifiable by their gray morph-suits off to the side. He signs in on the data computer and accepts the print-out telling him who he is going to be flying, to where, and how long it should take. Great, Jericho again. Not that Jericho is awful, but Jordan really hates the fangirls, or the battle plans talked about right under him as if he doesn't exist.

As per rules, he stands rigidly with the other volunteers, not able or allowed to exchange any words with them. Since they're volunteers, it’s absolutely crucial they reveal no personal information whether it’s their voice, face, phrases, hand gestures or so on to each other so that there's no chance of a lack of security and possible personal health risk. Jordan's starting to catch on that's a steaming cup of B.S. and those rules are in place to keep a level of separation between them and supers, to make them less human, more tools on the basic level.

Yet even as he knows it, he doesn't move, doesn't think about quitting right then and there or even James's faint suggestion to work against the cause rather than with it. Something big is likely happening today, and just like any other day, he has no clue what his purpose is for and if it’s all going to matter or affect him later on.

Speaking of not knowing...Jordan watched the bobbing head of the auburn-haired stern older woman ascend the stairs of the stage. She, as the Heroes Commission spokesperson, cleared her throat and gestured towards the crowd of gray morph-suit wearing volunteers. “Someone clear them out until the briefing is over,” the woman barked as if they were nothing more than sheep. It was then, that James's voice, the offer to delve more villainous endeavors echoed in his ear. He followed the crowd, feeling his heart beating angrily in his chest and he clenched his fists. As they were herded into another room until the heroes were finished with briefing. He could feel his blood heating.

Yet, what could he do. Marginally insignificant powers, that's all he had. Everyone one of them were “insignificant”.

What if…what if for one moment he could make them eat their words. All it would take is repeating back what Jeriah said right under him to even James who could give the info to a Villain who needs it.

Jordan wanted to—for just a second—break one of their rules. Turn to the person in the gray morph suit next to him, pull down his hood, and literally just talk to them like they were another person—because that’s what they were. People.

But as they were herded into the next room, his fists released and with a deep breath in, the anger was released. Unwillingly, mind you. He knew what lifted it—and just another reason to hate supers—was the person who mass-directed emotions towards neutrality in the corner. A Human Resources employee with her Level 3 badge.

Jordan took a deep breath. There was no reason to fight it—no reason to keep it up when he’d be standing around for the next thirty minutes waiting on Superheroes to be told the details of something. 

Time inched past until the HR employees opened the doors again and volunteers and himself filtered in looking for their assignments. Jordan saw Jericho in full glory. He was radiating today, his gait a bouncing stride and he spun his gun animatedly in his left hand. Jordan sighed.

He acknowledged Jordan with nod, turning to Fire Fox and a few of the heroes Jordan didn’t know well. There were two other volunteers. One had already unfurled fly like wings. Jordan had seen him before around the hub. The other volunteer’s power was indiscernible, but Jordan assumed it was flight. They took to the air and Jordan gripped Jericho under the armpits and flew upwards. The bronze wings felt heavy, yet firm and steady and Jordan balanced himself easily.

  
Jericho was the one leading and he usually communicated what direction he wanted to go by tapping on Jordan’s hand to indicate which way to turn. It worked as well as it usually did—to say Jordan had a fair idea and soon he didn’t need Jericho’s direction. There was a massive crater in the city center and flames were rising across buildings and the decorative park. Smoke was thick in the air, black and billowing. Jordan wished someone had thought to give them all gasmasks because clearly the super-heroes had them, but instead he resigned himself to closing his eyes partially and holding his breath best he could as he flew through the worst of it.

He recognized the area on a second look as he faintly heard Jericho tell him to drop him off in the center of it. Jordan wanted to say “sure, I love catching fire and breathing in smoke,” but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he recalled the memory of the field trip his Freshman year of high-school to the SPIT—or Scientific Progress and Innovation Tower—it used to have a better name. However, like most places bought out by rich billionaires—original names dried up the moment someone with not too much creativity and a big wallet became the one in charge.

Jordan remembered being interested in the scientific discoveries there and fairly wowed by the lot of them. He remembered wanting to work for them when he graduated university. It was full of glass windows, relics of old technology and so many minds focused on one goal—creating new tech.

However, his memory soured with his revisit to it during a tour done to spark interest during an internship fair. They offered a lot of the engineering students a free trip and tour and Jordan had taken it without a second thought. Everything was the same, except one thing.

There were human test subjects. There was talk of them having gave consent to lower jail sentences or escape worse punishments, but something off-put him. “It’s for the greater good,” the tour guide had said, and Jordan felt alone. Many nodded and Jordan wanted to break status quo and ask, “is it?” When someone far braver than him had. Sonja Reid—inquisitive and fiery engineer with a sharp tongue and a penchant for arguing. She was well known for upsetting male colleagues and reprimanding the behavior of many more. Her eyes were a bright green, luminescent.

Jordan knew she had superpowers but could never hope to figure out her super-hero alias. She kept both lives separate. He didn’t share classes with her—but he occasionally found her in the same online study groups as him or crashed in the engineering library with energy boosters. He knew her more from the semi-regular complaints and comments about her.

“And what about those who aren’t that big of criminals? People arrested for stupid shit?” she boldly asserted.

  
“They always have the option to wait in jail and serve their sentence properly,” the tour-guide said. Sonja Reid—with her brown hair tied back away from her face and her sensible pants-suit could have attracted the eyes of modest men—but her eyes, drawn further out by her make-up were a danger. Too knowing to ever be fully comfortable around.

  
“Do they? A lot of the people who consent to being human-test subjects are people who have families or people they have to support—people they have to return to. Economically under-privileged—”

  
“Please email us or schedule a one-on-one consultation, Ms. Reid if you’d like to inquire more about our company policies and procedures,” said a man—the owner of the tower with dark black hair and a beard and moustache trimmed neatly. He was Jeriah Boner—one of the richest men in the city. He turned to the group as a whole, waving good-naturedly at them. “Sorry to startle you all, I’d thought I’d stop in on the tour. I like to see future employees and get on a first-name basis with a few promising applicants,” Mr. Boner remarked. He chuckled and the tension fell away, many of the other engineers chuckling with him and Jordan had thought, for a good few moments, about turning to Sonja Reid, the most infamous and disliked engineer at their school by her peers, and saying “I feel similarly.”

Instead, he thought better and chose to chuckle with the others, feeling the cold in his stomach as he dismissed her along with his peers. The group visibly leaving her trailing behind as they walked onto the next room, one Jordan had been excited about as they talked about their ‘super’ computer and some of the algorithms the company stuck to for efficiency.

But that had been a couple years ago. Currently, the outside of the tower had been blown to shreds and the core sat in a large crater. The core of the tower was not a power source or some magic existence, but the reinforced military-grade building within a now destroyed building. Imagine an apple. The edible and tasty parts are on the outside, and when you’re done chewing through that, on the inside was the cyanide and the tasteless bits. The core was too much like an apple-core. During the tour it was inaccessible—matters far too private being conducted in secrecy.

They flew around it to a clearer patch of land.

He set Jericho down among the wreckage and the team of superheroes landed behind him. Jordan stepped back immediately, looking for the police-line and a place where he could get fresh air and eyed the other volunteers who seemed to be doing the same. Before Jordan could start to walk off—he heard Jericho’s voice. “Sparklez? I think I’m going to need a little help from you.”

This wasn’t like usual. Jordan almost thought about saying, “no, I don’t think I will,” but he resigned himself from separating from the fly-winged volunteer who continued walking away and to Jericho. Jericho seemed…upset. His eyes were fixed on the core of the tower and he mumbled something to Fire Fox before spinning the dial on his gun. “There’s someone up there we have to save. I’ll need you to get me up there and wait for me.”

No one else seemed to be going with Jericho and Jordan swallowed, the taste of ash and smoke was over-powering most of his coherent thought and he simply nodded. He grabbed Jericho under the arms and flew upwards, thankful for the goggles at the very least for keeping the smoke from his eyes. They settled on the roof of the core which Jordan could swear was groaning, as if on the verge of toppling at any second. Jordan didn’t make any move to accompany Jericho inside as the man shot open the roof door and disappeared inside. He knew not what business Jericho had to do, he just hoped the man made it quick.

This high-up and with so much smoke Jordan couldn’t see anything down below. He coughed, covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of the bleak gray morph suit hoping it’d help. Jordan saw flashes of color—fights playing out with bright lights faintly through the smoke at time—people dealing blows and he had no idea how many were on each side. It was the largest battle of villains versus superheroes he had seen since his childhood and it was nothing more than unremarkably stupid.

  
Jordan coughed again and turned his attention skyward and to his dismay noticed the sun had been blotted out. Anxiety rose in his chest and he felt something familiar, but not welcome. His wings dissipated back into their usual golden—as Jericho put it—sparkles and sunk into the ground, the glow briefly giving Jordan greater clarity through the smoke before he was left standing without any sort of aid on a roof thousands of feet in the air.

He knew protocol, but Jericho had broken it before he did. The smoke was burning his throat and it took him no time at all to decide. He crossed the roof and slipped past the open roof-top door and down a few stairs before he was met with strangely cool air which he breathed in desperately. The morph suit was keeping him from breathing it in fully. He pulled the mask from his face, the goggles dangling from his fingers, and he breathed in deeply, his vision clearer and chest and lungs feeling less troubled than before. He wiped soot from the goggles, noticing in dismay his suit had been dyed black by the constant exposure to smoke. Jordan sat on the stairs in a great huff of air, thankful for the cool metal walls and metal stairs. How it was cold didn’t cross his mind past a first initial curiosity that was quickly drowned out by the exhaustion of the situation.

The smoke had got to him and he was too bothered to think rationally or question his surroundings. When Jericho returned, he’d quickly shove the morph suit mask back on, but until then he was content with closing his eyes and breathing slow, deep breaths.

A sound like a banshee screaming startled him. His eyes shot to further down the stairs and he heard the door swinging open and then slamming closed. Footsteps hurriedly drummed up the stairs. Jordan reached for his morph suit mask, but the man hurrying up the stairs collided with him far too fast for him to don it again. To his surprise, the man didn’t spare him a second look. The man disappeared into the smoky roof-top and Jordan stared after him awhile.

Jordan’s curiosity offered a tempting idea to follow the man, but his caution and general distaste told him firmly to not follow, so he didn’t. Instead, he felt his heart begin pounding incessantly, worry for his well-being increasing. If that was a villain—they could be about to blow up the tower or end it all, if it was a hero and they realized Jordan had broken protocol he’d find himself in a ‘job review’ that consisted of a twenty-four hour interrogation in a small room with no amenities. If it was a civilian, he supposed the man had signed his own death warrant.

Jordan heard a loud explosion that shook the building and he grasped the stair step and pulled himself to his feet. Reluctantly he donned the morph-suit mask and goggles again and went down the stairs further to the door that had been slammed shut earlier. He opened it slowly, expecting flames, destruction, or a deadly sight and was met with an office that was over-turned and disorderly, but not looking to have been blasted and shot to death. Another explosion shook the building and Jordan went to the windows of the building and looked out. The smoke was thicker than before and Jordan was glad he hadn’t gone up to the roof. He looked back down and realized with a jolt the base of the core was on fire.

Stars, he hoped Jericho decided it was time to leave then. He peered around the office semi-curiously and saw a fallen nameplate on the floor. “J. B.” Jordan nodded to himself. That was who Jericho had to save. Jeriah Boner. Jordan looked around the office curiously. He hoped Jericho would reappear.

To ease his anxiety some, he examined the books on the shelves, finding familiar titles or subjects he knew and some beyond his expertise. They were scientific in nature, some of them journals with current findings, others older principals inscribed on large books, surely full of discussion and debate. Jordan recognized one of the titles—he had heard of that experiment. Its findings were top secret and so was most of the experiment, but the gossip about it made it to college classrooms. The _Metamorphosis._ Beside the supposedly crazy experiment was a collection of smaller books with the same type font on their spines, an M at the top. One caught his eye. The _Suraci File._ Jordan pulled it free and he heard a soft click.

Jordan stared. A small drawer had come out from the set of what looked to be metal paneling. He tucked the journal under his arm and peered at it.

A small compartment had opened—no bigger than a matchbook—and inside was an old-technology relic. A USB drive. Jordan hesitated, but then plucked the drive out.

No alarm or trap triggered. Instead, he considered it and then a small part of him decided, “well if it’s important I’ll just give it the PF or HR and I’ll be done with it.” But he knew what most of his mind was saying. “Let’s see what’s on it—what secrets does Jeriah Boner have.” Jordan wasn’t one for trouble, but with this building about to go up in flames he figured no one would miss it. He tucked the USB drive into his right-shoe. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about losing it. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling sized glass wall and looked out. Mostly just smoke, but as he looked down he was greeted with the panic-inducing sight of the flames licking halfway up the tower.

Jordan tried to summon his wings—to give himself the assurance he could get away from this.

His wings didn’t form. Jordan felt himself one wheezing breath away from hyperventilating when the door slammed open again.

The man before him wore a green facemask with an attachment that Jordan presumed was for protection against smoke inhalation, tufty brown hair peeking out beneath where a hoodie had fallen some. His outfit was filled with various straps and armored pieces held together haphazardly. A tattered cape, colored a dark red blending to black, hung from his shoulders. Despite the difference in usual dress, Jordan could tell by the mask and cape alone.

  
Tom—the man he had kissed and rejected at a party not even a week ago.

Or more aptly, Syndicate.

Jordan stared dumbly at him, not knowing the correct response. Only one of them knew who the other was. Tom saved him the issue of responding by immediately leveling a gun at him and firing, Jordan didn’t know what happened—maybe the sun finally decided to grace him again or maybe Jordan’s stars-forsaken powers finally realized he was going to die because his wings had materialized and whipped forward, shielding himself from the bullet.

It took Jordan a second to realize he had saved himself from most certain death and his wings had come without a conscious pull. He was so stunned he missed Tom’s next illusion until the gun was pressed against his temple. Jordan shifted his wings, intending to try to hit Tom. He couldn’t—maybe it was an illusion he couldn’t or maybe Jordan’s sudden great control over his powers was a one-time fluke.

  
“You’re going to fly me down from here, or I’ll kill you.”

Jordan wondered if this was an illusion pressing a gun against him or if Tom was. He didn’t doubt Tom’s ability to kill him, but some part of him wanted to one-up the super-villain who always got his way.

Jordan was about to respond when they were both thrown backwards against the window. The tower had lurched violently, now at a far angle. A great grinding and then whoosh of air had him flinching as the desk came sliding down, its heavy metal frame colliding with part of the window with a loud _CRACK_. Small cracks began to spiderweb out, deepening in the glass. Jordan felt his breath seizing, his heart hammering painfully in his chest.

He was pressed against the glass with books and papers and binders raining onto him. He felt someone grip his arm like a lifeline. Beside him, half-buried in papers and journals and the like was Tom.

His expression was lost beneath the mask, but Jordan had a feeling the very powerful super-villain wouldn’t survive this on his own. Jordan didn’t think he could survive this either—seeing as if that window cracked they’d be sent falling to certain death with wreckage and building parts and flaming ruins falling on top of them.

Jordan took a deep breath and felt his wings still firmly there. He said, his voice cracking as his anxiety broke free, “I really fucking hate this whole thing,” Jordan decided, getting the feeling off his chest before he most certainly was going to die.

Tom pushed the rug on his legs off, struggling to find a way to stand. “Come on, Super—save us or some shit,” Tom said, and Jordan heard a touch of fear in his voice. He tried to pass it off as a joke, but Jordan knew the fear because he could feel it in his own throat.

“I can only literally form these wings,” Jordan said, near hysteria. The building lurched again. A deafening crack had Jordan’s ears ringing and then the telltale sound of shattering glass. He felt shards piercing into his arm and then there was nothing against his back.

  
He was free-falling. He wasn’t alone, Tom was gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. For a moment Jordan was paralyzed. He spun in the air, his eyes tearing up behind the goggles. The sight of the ground and fires was racing towards him and he recoiled.

His wings respond and he pushed back, his fall slowed, but he was immediately pelted with wreckage and sent forcibly down again. Tom let go of him with the impact and Jordan, on instinct, grabbed Tom under the arms. 

Jordan forced his wings to flap once again and spread out and he dove sideways this time. The groan of the building’s structures straining to stay upright gave way to a sound like a cannonball colliding with a metal wall. His hearing was gone, filled with a ringing sensation. The tower was falling down and if they didn’t move fast enough, they’d be killed by the wreckage.

Jordan pushed himself and his wings upward, gripping Tom as tightly as he could. He didn’t want to let go of the man and send him to a no doubt painful death. He dodged a piece of flaming wreckage as it brushed his wing and sent him flailing. He flapped up and down to regain his balance, Tom had raised his hands to grip Jordan’s forearms. 

Jordan could hardly see through the smoke and flames rising up from the ground and hellfire itself burned him. He couldn’t imagine Tom was faring any better.

Jordan saw the wreckage above him, but he couldn’t dodge the metal pole hurtling towards the earth, and it struck him where his wings were joined. He spun in the air and had a half second thought that the metal pole looked awfully familiar…Almost like…

He was sent spiraling down. He didn’t know what else he could do—he was no longer right side up. Tom was thrown against his chest and Jordan wrapped his wings around himself and Tom and braced for impact, unable to do much else.

Jordan felt himself collide with the ground and then blackness.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return. I write.


	4. Forced Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: amputation, injury, and manipulation

He awoke to someone screaming. It was only moments later. It was not to a hospital or a resolved situation. He was still in imminent danger.

The sky wasn’t visible. Smoke and fire filled the air and the wreckage around him was all he could see. He couldn’t even move his head. He felt his cheek pressed painfully against a slab of concrete, small grains digging into his flesh. He felt something jutting into his lower back along with a warm and sticky sensation—his blood.

“Aaaagh!” came the scream again. He realized it was Tom.

The man had fell out of Jordan’s grip when they landed, and a piece of rubble had pinned his arm. He was screaming in frustration and pain, tugging at his arm uselessly and pounding his fist against the rubble.

Jordan couldn’t feel his legs clearly. One was a throbbing source of pain and the other felt…absent. He couldn’t crane his head to look down and Jordan wasn’t sure he wanted to. His shoulders ached but after a few moments, he found he could move both of his arms—his wings had sheltered them best. A painful burn seared his left forearm, glass fragments embedded in his skin. The morph suit was gone from his arms, completely burned off and a few of his fingers were broken. He gave up on moving that arm quickly and moved his right arm. It responded well enough—feeling bruised on all sides.

Jordan reached a hand up and tugged off the mask and goggles. There was blood running down from a gash somewhere on his scalp. It dripped into his eye and he desperately blinked it away. Jordan coughed and Tom’s eyes darted to him. The man’s mask was still in place, but Jordan could see Tom’s armor had done a better job at keeping him from getting battered than Jordan’s morph suit. It had provided no protection whatsoever.

For a second he wondered why Tom was still staring at him, until he realized Tom didn’t know it was him.

Until now.

Tom didn’t say anything, he went slack against the rubble pinning his right arm and stared at something emitting a soft—hardly visible glow. A com. It was too far away for Tom to reach, but Jordan wasn’t trapped by anything. His wings were gone—dissipated again, but Jordan still could move—if only painfully.

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with his right arm. He couldn’t do it. It was too much weight and his arm shook, pain coursing through it and he gasped.

  
Jordan crammed his eyes shut as hard as he could and pressed his broken left hand against the ground along with his right hand and pushed himself up. He couldn’t ignore the sharp and short scream that escaped him. The pain nearly sent him back down, but Jordan drew blood in his mouth to force himself to hold the position. A pounding headache took hold, but he kept himself propped up on his arms and then reluctantly, in the direction he remembered the com being in, he reached one arm out, then the other, and _pulled._

“Fuck!” Jordan screamed, the pain in his legs blackened his vision, stars dancing faintly in the distance. His jaw ached with how hard he grits his teeth and he sagged, his arms shaking too bad to keep himself up like this. He was closer to the com, but he couldn’t do it. Jordan collapsed. He stretched out his right arm, but he’d have to reach over himself to grab it. There was no way. The closest arm was his left one.

  
Jordan opened his eyes. _We get the com, we can leave. All we need is the com. It’ll be okay._ He reached for it. His left hand spasmed in pain, the broken fingers aching against being pushed out, but he forced his two working fingers to grip the com and he dragged it back to his person.

  
He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. His voice was gone. His throat too ragged. A scream of pain building up in it again. He closed his mouth and grit his teeth.

Jordan turned his body onto its side, pain shooting through him and with his right arm, pushed the com over to Tom. Tom stared at him bleakly but picked it up with his left hand and hit a speed dial and then held it up to his mouth.

Silence, and then the fizzle of someone connecting to the other end. Barely audible over the crackling flames around them. “ _R, Code R,”_ Tom rasped. Whoever was on the other end must have understood and Tom hit a button that Jordan hoped was to send their location, and not to turn the damn device off, because he was feeling woozy. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly in and out, unable to keep them open. He felt a hand touch his right one and opened his eyes blearily to see Tom had grabbed his hand. Tom squeezed it again.

Jordan weakly squeezed it back.

“J-Jordan,” Tom managed to get out.

Jordan tried to muster up a smile or nod, but he closed his eyes and let the pain over-take him.

This time Jordan did wake up in a sort of hospital, but it was not moments later. He had a feeling he had woken up many times before this time and fell back under, but this time he awoke, groggy and off, but in enough pain, he felt reluctantly drawn to the surface of consciousness. It took him a few times to open his eyes, as if some sort of heavy material was covering them. After his seventh attempt he opened them to see a dark room, a soft lamp on in the corner. It was a bed, but the amount of medical gear surrounding it was on easily movable stands—nothing was a permanent fixture.

Jordan turned his head to the side and saw a night-table covered in medical supplies from hospital gloves to a few needles. This was a hospital room, but not one owned by the heroes. Jordan let his eyes travel the room. His head and back were propped up with a few pillows, allowing him not to have to crane his head to see. A brace was on his neck and he felt his skin stretched at his scalp. Stitches? He was thankful for the lack of a bright light. It took several blinks for his vision to lose any blurriness and he saw a door in the corner of the room. It was a dark oak door and the with an elegantly curled doorknob.

Jordan couldn’t relax, but he was practically immobile. His legs were covered with multiple blankets to the point he couldn’t tell where they are. He turned his head to look at his left arm and saw a burn wrap and two small-robotic splints for his fingers. His right arm was fine, an IV and a wireless device fitted to his finger measuring likely blood oxygen levels and heartbeat or something of the sort The blood pressure cuff around his arm rhythmically constricted and Jordan felt the familiar bubble of panic in the back of his mind with hospitals. He always had a fear of them.

Jordan consciously tried to figure out what he was wearing, and he could see the cotton t-shirt on his chest, but after a few guesses, could surmise he was wearing some sort of boxers. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and it was reassuring. He did like these rather than hospital gowns.

Jordan tried to shift his legs. His right one responded, but he felt something around his knee supporting it. His left leg didn’t respond at all. Jordan felt a loss there, he could swear he felt pain. But he couldn’t even move it. It felt like when his leg had gone numb and he had a feeling in his chest. He knew why his legs were covered. He strained, desperate, but he couldn’t move it. He managed to bring his right leg up enough to see it move beneath the blankets. His throat clenched.

This was a nightmare. How was he going to explain what happened? To the heroes especially. Jordan swallowed and with a feeling of defeat and hopelessness, he pushed one of the pillows out beneath him, so he could lay down and bury his face into the covers half-heartedly. Jordan had just resettled himself when the door opened.

It was a very familiar and very welcome face. James smiled at him. He was dressed casually, wearing a t-shirt, a zip-up hoodie and a pair of jeans

“Jordan! Looking alive and well thankfully—can’t say you looked well when you arrived,” James crossed the room in quick easy strides and fetched a chair from against the wall and minded the medical equipment, sitting beside Jordan’s bed.

“I,” Jordan tried speaking, but his throat was raw. James nodded quickly and left for a moment before returning with water and a straw. He passed it to Jordan who gripped it weakly with both hands. He drank slowly, relishing the relief it did. He tried speaking again. “I feel…better,” Jordan paused and drank more water. The sore throat blooming to full fruition.

  
“I’d imagine,” James chuckled, but his face grew grim. He let Jordan finish drinking water before absently taking the cup and setting it down. “I picked up a few things from your apartment. I’d lend you my DS,” he waved the very old game device, “but I think you might end up…going under again. You’re going to be stuck here a little while more. Now that your brain is fully functioning again—we’ll run a map of your brain and program the prosthetic so its functional with all of those processes and then do a little bit of illusion trickery to fool the brain a bit into accepting it as its own,” James listed off and Jordan felt his stomach drop some.

“My leg didn’t survive?” Jordan asked. He already knew it was true, but hearing James say it crushed him. James nodded. He avoided looking Jordan in the eyes. “Can I see it?” Jordan asked. He didn’t want this. He just wanted to have never flew Jericho up there. Why him out of all people?

“Best we wait until after the procedure,” James said, patting Jordan’s hand and standing again. Jordan wasn’t done though, he had so many questions.

James was obviously not telling him something—a lot of something. He was surprised there was no ‘Jordan you have superpowers?’ or something similar or any sort of questions.

“I have questions,” Jordan managed to rasp out and James sighed.

“I’ll fill a pitcher of water and bring it in along with the cup. You have a catheter in you, by the way,” James mentioned casually, “if you were…wondering…” Jordan flinched and tried not to think about feeling it—but then did. He definitely didn’t want to look at that. “And so, do we,” James said. Jordan stared at him. “Oh, goodness—not about the catheter. We also have questions. Apologies.” Jordan could guess who the ‘we’ was, but he felt so many words brimming on his tongue. “But you’re not healthy enough yet to sustain a conversation.”

Jordan’s mind was plenty alert and he shook his head. “I can,” his voice had dropped to a forced whisper as he spoke, and James sighed. He made to leave the room, but Jordan’s anxiety struck him. “Power Facil—” Jordan’s voice cut out.

James turned around towards him. “What?” Jordan took a deep breath, forced himself not to let his throat close with anxiety. “What about the Power Facility? How do I…” Jordan swallowed. He groaned a little, fighting the feeling in his throat. “How do I explain this?”

“Well, easy,” James said, and he had one foot out the door. Jordan had seen James do this before answering questions like ‘did you drink my last protein shake?’ or ‘did you use my shower to wash mud off your shoes again?’ James didn’t look at him as he spoke, “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

And James left immediately, giving Jordan no-time to be upset with him. Instead, Jordan was left to feel the mind-numbing shock alone. _Everyone thinks I’m…_ The statement settled in him and as he swallowed, trying to fight off the tears rising in his eyes, he felt like ice was running down his throat. He had a degree to finish, his sister would pull hair out over this, he had a life he had wanted to live—or he hoped to live when it all got better.

  
He pounded his hand down frustrated on the bed. He should pull out the IV, put up a fight. He was angry. He didn’t ask for this. Someone Jordan didn’t know brought in a pitcher of water and a cup filled with it and left it on the table.

Jordan grabbed it and drank slowly. Tears burned the corners of his eyes as he did. The water didn’t taste quite right and Jordan set the glass down, feeling a heavy weight on his eyes. He fumbled with his IV for a second, but he went under before he could pull it out.

…

The next time he awoke, most of the medical equipment was gone. Some things lingered, but in an accidental way like someone hadn’t had time to grab it all.

The blanket was gone from his legs and he could see the glimmering blue light running up the synthetic tissue of the leg. It looked so realistic other than the lights on the side of it. Jordan’s chest tightened at the sight of it. He could move the prosthetic when he flexed his legs, but it filled him with bitterness. The curtains had been moved from the window and the glowing lights of the underground filtered into the room. He sat up in bed and moved aside the covers. He was in a different cotton shirt and had pajama bottoms along with his boxers. The catheter was gone, and Jordan was grateful.

He moved his legs slowly, bringing them to his chest and away slowly. They responded. A bit of pain, but he could move them simply. He was grateful the prosthetic wasn’t ignoring him, but he couldn’t ignore the seed of bitterness at the sight of it. Even clothed by pants the blue lights showed through.

Jordan chose to ignore the leg and simply focused on getting up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately felt nausea and hunger hit him all at once. He swallowed the feelings down and stood up, the room swaying briefly. His first step faltered as he felt all to wary to put weight on the prosthetic, but after a few steps it felt natural. Jordan crossed the room and put a hand on the dark-oak door cautiously but opened it slowly. The hall was nothing like the room. It was very well-lit, and Jordan had to blink repeatedly to adjust. It did appear this was a sort of make-shift hospital and he could see people dressed cleanly, but not quite as starkly as doctors walking around. One walked up to Jordan and checked his clipboard. “Ah, Mr. Maron?”

“Yes?” Jordan replied. His throat felt thick.

“This way, I’ll show you to a changing room.” He guided Jordan a few steps and gestured inside to a small walk-in closet filled with various sizes and styles of clothes. “Pick something to your liking and put it on. You’ll be ready to leave as soon as you do so,” the doctor—presumably, Jordan didn’t know what else he could be—said. Jordan found a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt and hoodie and threw them on quickly. There were tennis shoes in his size—a little too loud in color, but he just wanted to leave. He found socks, pulled them on, wincing when his fingers ran over the prosthetic before pulling the shoe on. The prosthetic probably didn’t need a shoe—but it was fashioned like his leg and he felt more comfortable treating it like a leg than not. 

The man knocked once on the door and paused. Jordan mustered up a raspy, “come in.” The man entered and stood at rest, hands behind his back.

“Your friend is waiting for you in our lobby area,” the man said. No paperwork was given to Jordan to sign making it the single weirdest hospital experience. Instead he was guided through halls until he reached a large glass door overlooking a glass elevator heading down. The glass door slid open and the man nodded for him to take the elevator.

Jordan did. He stepped into the glass elevator and looked out it to see a large fountain in the middle of what appeared to be a courtyard—or perhaps this was the lobby. It was full of fanciful arranged colored stones and neon lights flashing with greens and blues. People milled down below, passing into other places. There looked to be restaurants and businesses and Jordan looked on in amazement. It looked similar to the world above—but the fluorescent glowing rock cave he could see far above the fountain and anything else as the elevator descended told him it was still underground.

He hadn’t known so many people lived under here. It changed so much. If this was part of a larger city, Jordan could estimate the underground was a fourth the size of the city above—and that was something. The city above was a small country with districts and sections. This—this shouldn’t be this big. He lived near the outskirts, but stars, he never thought he’d personally see something like this. There were probably shopping districts like this in the inner circles away from the Power Facility and places he regularly traveled, but none he could really afford to enter.

“The elevator reached its stop and Jordan turned away from the outside the elevator to enter a small lobby—reasonably furnished with plants and stone décor. It was a few glass doors away from the large fountain outside and where people milled about. Jordan surveyed the lobby and at first—found no one, but then he smiled in relief. James.

“Jordan,” James greeted curtly. He was accompanied by two other men and Jordan felt far too wary.

“Guess you have questions for me?” Jordan asked, his voice starting to crack less often.

“I do,” James said. He had his hands resting in his belt loops and Jordan eyed the two men next to him.

“Who are they?”

“Just some standard protection,” James said. “I wouldn’t worry too much. Follow me.” Jordan did so, wanting to ask James questions of his own, but his voice was curter and colder than Jordan was used to, so he restrained himself. Instead he put his hands in his pockets and followed after James quietly. His steps felt heavy, and he favored his normal leg. He was worried about a lot of things, and the hall they traveled took them away from the wonders outside and into a quiet isolated area. They passed through what looked to be security doors James put his hand over and then opened several times which worried Jordan until they arrived at what looked to be a standard interrogation room.

Jordan had been hoping the villains would prefer a nice lounge instead for that, but he supposed not. The interrogation room had padded chairs which he supposed was better than the metal ones bolted to the ground in the ‘job review’ room. James opened the door to it and gestured for Jordan to go in. He did. The two men didn’t follow, and James entered the room with him. He gestured for Jordan to sit on the other side of the table. Reluctantly, he did so.

“I know you must be hungry and wanting to likely take a shower and sleep in a real bed and relax without scrutiny, but I just need you to answer a few questions,” James said and fixed Jordan with a penetrating stare. Jordan nodded. He hadn’t thought about a shower, but it sounded nice right now.

James stayed standing and paced the room, thinking. “Let’s start simple. Can you respond verbally to questions so the video-camera can pick up audio from you?”

  
“Yes,” Jordan said.

James paced a few times and stilled on the spot, his back to Jordan. “What is your full name?”

“Jordan C. Maron.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work a part-time job at an office doing mild IT requests, I’m a Computer Science major, and I…” Jordan stopped. He supposed this wasn’t a secret. Tom had seen his wings, so he was sure everyone knew now. “I work as a volunteer for the Heroes Commission,” Jordan said.

“Elaborate on the volunteer part,” James said sharply. Jordan sighed.

“I can only form bronze wings in direct sunlight and fly around superheroes to their jobs,” Jordan said. “In turn I’m compensated with health insurance and small payouts.”

James chuckled. A short scoff of a laugh. Jordan hadn’t heard him laugh like that before.

“Sounds like that job kind of sucks, don’t it?” James asked wryly.

“Health insurance is expensive.”

“It sure is,” James humored. He turned on the spot and gave Jordan a once over. Scanning him up and down narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Could you form the wings now?”

“No,” Jordan answered instantly.

“Can you try to form the wings now?”

“It won’t work,” Jordan told him. James groaned.

“Look, Jordan—work with me. I’m asking you to form the wings or try to. Just stop for a moment and try to form them—then tell me no? Kapeesh?” Jordan nodded reluctantly. He closed his eyes and focused on forming the wings. He felt the familiar weight for a moment start to form, but it startled him and he failed to form the wings. It must be daytime out, but like he knew well, it had to be direct sunlight.

“I tried,” Jordan said, opening his eyes.

“You sure did,” James muttered sarcastically. Jordan wondered who had pissed in James’s cereal. He was certainly in a mood. “Fine, moving on then,” James decided. “Why were you at the tower?”

Jordan hesitated. Some part of him didn’t want to tell them all of what the superheroes did. It wasn’t like he really knew much on them, but the NDAs he had signed when he started that job weighed in. “I flew Jericho up there,” Jordan said.

James waited, fixing Jordan with a look. Jordan sighed.

“Jericho hadn’t come out and the smoke was getting to me, so I just entered the tower. Someone ran past me and went to the roof. I don’t know who. So, I just went into the first door available and then Tom—”

“You’re skipping something,” James cut him off.

“What?” Jordan questioned, but then it clicked. The drive. He wondered if it had survived all that had happened. “I was just trying to keep myself distracted and I pulled a book off—a slot popped open and there was a USB drive there so…”

“You took it,” James interrupted. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan said.

“Did someone tell you to?”

“No.”

“Did you know what was on it?”

“No.”

“Why did you take it?”

“I just thought—I don’t know?”

“What did you think?”

  
Jordan balled his fists up and fought past the blur of memories. He remembered the stupid USB drive vaguely, but Tom pointing a gun at him kind of took priority in his memories. “I just thought, ‘well this is probably important, and the tower is going to come down, so I guess I’ll take it and just…give it back later or something,’” Jordan rushed out. “It wasn’t exactly smart or planned.”

“Or something,” James didn’t give him even a moment to breath.

“I don’t know—I don’t like Jeriah Boner.”

“How do you know it belongs to him?”

“It was in his office.”

“What don’t you like about him?” James demanded.

“The human subject testing shit,” Jordan said, already feeling drained. “Can you slow down?”

“Do you know what was on the USB drive?”

“No,” Jordan muttered. “I just put it in my pocket and then I had a gun pointed at me.”

James looked to be asking another question when his com rang. He let out an audible huff and turned his back to Jordan. “Yeah, what do you want?”

Jordan could faintly hear the voice on the other end. _“-m I need you to come and see this.”_

“I’ll be there shortly, I gotta finish some shit,” James snapped.

The pieces clicked. Jordan, despite any sort of caution and awareness and his state of hunger and fatigue—stood. He crossed his arms and waited.

“Okay-okay, bye,” ‘James’ disconnected from the com and then turned to Jordan. He looked at Jordan with narrowed eyes when he saw him standing.

“Why are you—”

“Because you’re being a piece of shit, Tom—I saved your damn life. And you impersonate James to get answers,” Jordan said. He felt his heart pounding. He was never this courageous or bold—but he was fed up. The moment he realized it was Tom he couldn’t stay still like that and let Tom keep interrogating him.

The illusion dropped. It wasn’t just Tom making himself look like James—they had never left the lobby. The sound of the fountain outside returned and Jordan realized there was no doors to this lobby other than the one that went outside. There were no guards. Tom had been laying it on thick.

“You—” Jordan started.

“Look,” Tom said, he gestured grandly. “I just wanted to get it done quick—I have more important shit to do. Thank-you for being a nice human being and saving my skin—I did the same for you in return. Now go bugger off—James can show you the city and what not.” Tom crossed his arms and Jordan narrowed his eyes.

“Is any of it even real?” Jordan snapped. He was frustrated and hungry and tired of the lack of transparency in his life.

“Yes—the rest of this is real,” Tom said dryly. “I’m not _that_ powerful.” He looked Jordan over warily and said. “You got in the way of an operation—I’m sorry you did.” He sounded genuine, but Jordan refused to trust him. He kept his arms crossed as Tom fiddled with the sleeve of his own jacket. “I’m sorry I pointed a gun at you.”

“Why was the building even exploding in the first place?” Jordan asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer to his next question—but he asked it anyway. “What happened to Jericho?”

Tom sighed. He sat down in one of the lobby chairs and gestured to the one beside him. Jordan stayed standing. “He left—with Jeriah Boner—out the entrance. Nearly killed me—I realized I had to find the damn USB drive so I made it look like an illusion was going after him and went inside. He figured it out and immediately blew up the place.” Tom leaned back in the chair, staring at Jordan. He watched Jordan’s expression change and a small cruel smile fixed itself on his face. “You didn’t realize he left you.”  
  
“He told me to wait,” Jordan said more to himself. That wasn’t a defense. “I…” It stung. Maybe Jericho had originally meant to go out the top of the tower, but something had changed along the way. “Were you guys holding Jeriah hostage?”

Tom scowled. “Course we fucking were. I needed that damn USB.”

Jordan let out a heavy breath he had been holding. It at least means Jericho could have had to change plans because of them. He didn’t want to feel that expendable.

“Did you get it?” Jordan asked. “From my unconscious body.”

Tom smiled. He stood up, languidly stretching like a cat and walked past Jordan, heading for the glass elevator. “Hm, did I?” Tom reached the elevator and stopped at it. “You could say I asked you questions I already knew.”

“Why?” Jordan questioned. Annoyed. He about had it with Tom.

Tom was like a petulant child. He smiled at Jordan. “Think of it this way, Jordan. You got in the way—but you helped me. So, I’m helping you. James was right—everyone thinks you’re dead. Get a job down here, ignore your powers, and go get drunk or something,” Tom supplied. He tapped a button on the elevator and stepped in, giving Jordan one last long, hard look. He left Jordan with parting words. “I’ll see you around, Jordan.”

The elevator closed, and Tom was gone, zipping upwards. Jordan stared after him but didn’t follow. Instead, he looked outside the lobby and saw James playing on the DS absently. Jordan took a deep breath and looked down at himself and then back outside.

As with all new places, he felt anxiety, but it was worse here. One moment he was on an assignment. The next, his entire life uprooted. It was already going to be uprooted by being moved by the PF to the inner circle, but now.

Jordan almost wanted to walk away and find his own corner to take a deep breath and sort through his thoughts and his new situation without outside interference, but between the glass elevator and the exit—there was nothing else.

Jordan sighed, and turned his feet towards the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not write any of this with chapter breaks in mind. This chapter is a fragment of a stretch of 15k words that I didn't really pause or scene cut in, so if this chapter feels off with the way it ended, it's because there wasn't meant to be a break. 
> 
> However, 15k words at once--kind of hard to read through.


End file.
